


Swipe Right to Connect

by ashcrashed



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, based on a movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 71,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27097357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashcrashed/pseuds/ashcrashed
Summary: Two strangers take a chance on a dating app designed for 'no frills casual hookups', leading to a less than stellar encounter. The one-night stand quickly spirals into a different situation when the so-called 'Storm of the Century' effectively traps the pair together in the same New York apartment. Forced co-habitation after the world's most awkward night becomes an exercise in restraint, as the two attempt to play nice and discover an online connection and meaningless hookup might actually lead to something more. (An All Human AU, loosely inspired by the film "Two Night Stand")
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 39
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into writing for a pairing that I've loved for years. I guess one good thing to come out of quarantine and this stressful dumpster fire of a year is revisiting old things and flexing my fic muscles with new writing challenges. As the description goes, this is inspired by the rather forgettable movie "Two Night Stand". If you've seen it before (my condolences), you'll notice that while the premise is similar, the plot itself won't be at all (thankfully, because that second half was a mess). If this is all new to you, welcome! I promise a good time. The next two chapters are already finished and in the editing process. I try to keep my stories to no more than 10-12 chapters so we'll be breezing right along with regular updates. Anyway, enough chatter. Enjoy! 
> 
> (yadda yadda, characters aren't mine but the words and all the snark and smut are def my own. and please don't copy it to another site, or claim as your own.)

_Is you into that?_   
_Let's break the internet!_

\-- **Doja Cat** 'Cyber Sex'

* * *

**FRIDAY NIGHT**

It had the makings of a massively stupid idea.

And technically, she could blame it on the alcohol. There’d certainly been enough of it. Boredom wine was a dangerous wine. Normally it meant impulsive shopping sprees that left her credit card hurting and her email inbox flooded with offers she almost always forget to unsubscribe to. But this particular bottle of boredom (a deceptively delicious Riesling), had inspired an incredibly impulsive decision, still glaring at her from the screen of her phone.

Buffy Summers, official owner of an online dating profile.

It was the damn wine’s fault. And maybe her boss for scheduling her with a night off. That led to purchasing said bottle of boredom and its saucy sibling in a two for one special at the corner market. And really, she could throw in the grocery store in this pot o’ blame, there was enough of it to go around.

Because she was one bottle in and there was another one to go, and apparently plenty more bad choices to make.

One good choice at least was her profile picture. Never mind that it took at least twenty minutes to decide on the right picture. But she reasoned the selection was important. Laidback, but not sloppy. Hot, but not vampy. Up for it, but absolutely not desperate. In the end, she opted for cool but not too cliché. On the boardwalk at Coney Island, beach in the background, sporting camera-ready curls and a cute sleeveless romper. The palm tree print of the set always made her eyes pop…at least that’s what her ex had said.

Recalling that was annoying, especially since said ex-boyfriend was also the one who’d taken the picture. But she had to give credit where it was due, she looked damn good.

Pushing the thoughts of annoying, clomping exes with passable camera skills out of her mind, Buffy worked to complete the multi-step process of ‘finding meaningful connections’. Which was corny enough to get her eye-rolling started. Miracles weren’t to be expected from social media apps like ‘Date2Night’, which was so very clearly a hook up spot. A digital nightclub without the aggressively loud music or cute but pinching heels. Anyone expecting their soulmate was ‘only a swipe away’, had to be delusional.

Okay, maybe a small part of her was hoping for…something to happen. Some sparkage at the very least, culminating in a mindless endeavor that would at least drag her out of this stupid funk, far different from the typical post-holiday funk that seemed to creep in once the Christmas and New Year’s excitement started to wear off.

A fun night out wasn’t illegal, and god knows enough time spent indoors with nothing but a streaming queue full of movies and the best of the bodega boxed wine would drive anyone to desperation.

Still, she didn't sound entirely pathetic on paper. Or, onscreen. Just a twenty-nine year old law school dropout turned bartender with an eye for fashion and a love for fudge swirl ice cream and guilty pleasure action flicks. The 'looking for' section proved to be tricky. 'A good time' sounded way too vague (and a little late-night hotline). And considering her recent narrow escape of the four-car pileup that was the Highway of Riley Finn, safe to say a long-term relationship was also off the table. 

It was times like these she wished for Faith's input. Her roommate had a way with words (meaning she was the kind of scandalous Buffy could appreciate mid-deep in a bottle of boredom wine), and knowing her as she did, Faith would definitely suggest going the impulsive route. 

The problem was, Buffy and impulsive usually only extended to fashion and/or food.

All the more reason to try something new.

The blank space waited for her reply, cursor blinking unhelpfully and with a fortifying sip from her glass she typed out the first thing that came to mind, refusing to debate it with herself any longer.

‘Casual fun. No strings, no drama’. Simple, direct, but breezy. She could do that.

Her inner monologue was put on pause at the sound of keys jingling against the door. A shot of guilt jolted through her, and Buffy pushed the phone to the coffee table and plucked the wine glass from its resting spot as the door opened.

Buffy met Faith’s gaze with a grin she hoped was cheerfully nonchalant, silently chiding herself for acting like a kid caught digging in the cookie jar. “Hey! Back so soon?”

Faith arched a dark eyebrow at that. “Tell that ‘soon’ to my feet. It’s been a long ass shift.” She dropped the duffel slung on her shoulder with a relieved sigh and shimmied out of her thick fleece jacket, letting it fall atop the bag. “Fuckin’ twelve-hour days. Spent half the time cleaning the trucks and the other chasing these calls about busted pipes. You’d think people would know that cold weather means being prepared for the unexpected, anytime. Freakin’ chance of a storm’s got people going crazy.”

The FDNY logo was emblazoned on the back of her shirt as she turned towards the kitchen, grabbing a beer and popping the cap as Buffy prepared for a ramble that would no doubt include Faith’s gripes about inept New Yorkers and her never-ending knowledge of surviving winters thanks to her Boston upbringing.

It was all gibberish to Buffy, with her limited range of the ins and outs of firefighters (outside of looking hot in tight t-shirts) and winter in general. But she blamed that on her West Coast sensibilities. Still, it didn’t stop her from playing attentive listener and trying not to laugh as Faith lamented about uphill both ways walks in snow to get to school.

“Sounds like a rough day. But hey, you’re not dealing with busted pipes here. It’s been bone dry.”

“I’ll say,” Faith remarked, nudging the empty bottle of wine with her toe once she plopped down on the couch beside Buffy. “Hit up the two for one special again, B?”

“I can’t help it that they put the sign right there at the front! I did buy broccoli too, so you know, not all frivolous spending.”

Faith snorted at that. “I don’t think it works that way, Blondie. But my brain’s officially offline so let’s keep the logic real simple for the next few hours.”

The roommates toasted to that, Buffy tilting her glass slightly to clink with Faith’s bottle before taking a drink.

It was strange how well the pair of them got along, despite having almost nothing in common outside of work. Faith had been lead bartender at Venus when Buffy was first hired, and the brunette had shown her the ropes. They fell into an easy working relationship that eventually grew into a solid friendship, even after Faith had left the job once her dream of being a firefighter became a reality.

Buffy and Riley’s breakup left her in serious need of a place to crash and Faith had offered up the guest room in her apartment. That was six months ago, and Buffy knew despite their friendship (or perhaps _because_ of their friendship), their co-habitation would need to be temporary.

Not to mention Faith had been casually bringing up the subject of Buffy’s ‘next move’. And blonde as she might be, Buffy could pick up on the hint, but that hadn’t stopped her from dragging her feet. She could blame it on indecision (it was), but a small part of it was fear. Not that she missed Riley in the slightest, but it was nice, having a plan. Even if it wasn’t exactly hers. Making those big decisions on her own, place to live, a new career path…nope, bottles of boredom wine seemed much safer.

Still, no reason to overstay her welcome. Faith was good to her, and they got along great, but she knew that her friend’s ‘next move’ involved a literal moving in of her very steady (and very cool) girlfriend, which meant Buffy had to buckle down. It was the vibe she’d gotten from her mother during her visit back to Sunnydale for the Christmas.

The questions about her ‘plans’ had been casual enough, a few inquiries sprinkled throughout the week, but culminated in one of Joyce Summers’ polite but firm talks on the drive to LAX. It was just like her mother to wait until Buffy was riding the high of a pleasant New Year’s Eve out with her sister to spring her opinions on her eldest daughter, but Buffy knew the concern was well-meaning. Even if she shuddered at the idea of moving back home. She’d long outgrown Sunnydale. Moving back, trying to fit herself into a life that longer worked for her, it would only make things worse, a sure stumble backwards.

Perhaps, in some roundabout way, that stupid profile was the first step she needed. Hell, if she could find a decent match in New York, finding an apartment (and a new career path and life direction) shouldn’t be too much of a stretch. She was positive thinking Buffy now.

Faith leaned forward to reach for the remote on the coffee table just as an alert sounded on Buffy’s phone. “What the hell is ‘Date2Night’?”

Buffy started at the question, the sip of wine burning her throat when she coughed and dived towards the table. Her wine-soaked reflexes were too slow for Faith’s fast hands, frowning when Faith grabbed her phone and started scrolling. “I know you’ve been off the market for a while, but it’s an app. You know, what all the cool kids are doing.”

“You joined a hookup app?” Faith glanced over, a slow smile stretching full lips as she gave a short nod. “Fuckin’ finally. Been waiting for you to get over the Tin Man and get you some.”

Peridot eyes rolled heartily, the look shifting into a scowl when she dived for her phone and was met with empty air and a smug grin. “Okay, points for ‘Tin Man’ but gimme my phone!”

“No, I wanna see who is hitting you up.” Faith continued her teasing, smile morphing into full blown laughter the more she scrolled. “You look hot in this pic. But these matches are kinda lame. Some guy actually typed ‘My name is Chuck and I like to fuck’ for his bio…” Dark eyes met her gaze and Faith wiggled her brows. “You wanna swipe right on ready to fuck Chuck?”

The question followed a loud burst of laughter when Buffy dive-bombed and swiftly retrieved her phone from the clutches of her asshole friend, making a point to decline Chuck(lefuck) and his cringey matched connection. “You’re the worst. This is _so_ why I didn’t wanna say anything.”

“Ahh, come on B. It’s good you’re getting your groove back or whatever. Just don’t expect miracles ya know?”

Buffy shrugged, opting for nonchalance as she sipped her wine. “Please. I’m totally easy, breezy Buffy about this. See? I even picked the ‘casual’ option. Free of miracles and inflated expectations.”

“Is that your Buffy way of saying hookup? ‘Cause this totally sounds like a one-night stand. And I, for one, say hell yeah.”

It was just what she’d been looking for, Faith’s special brand of encouragement and Buffy couldn’t even pretend to be rankled by the idea or her roommate’s stamp of approval. There was an appeal to letting go and doing the unexpected. Something completely un-Buffy like.

“I could be one-night stand girl, sure.” She laughed when Faith did, knowing it wasn’t a mocking one, and they were both surprised at how sure she actually sounded. “Might be the wine talking, but I don’t know, I think it’ll be good for me. Back on the horse, back on my game—”

“Yeah that’s definitely wine-talking. And ya know, six-month dry spell.”

Buffy’s snort was loud as she drained her glass, smacking her lips at the taste and feeling emboldened by the alcohol. “More like nine months. Things were kinda weird at the end with me and Ry. I went through a lotta batteries.”

“ _Okay_ , we’re hitting pause on the wine” Faith announced, plucking the glass from her friend’s grasp and putting it on the coffee table. “First, you really need to get something rechargeable, this is the tech age. Second, let’s keep looking. I wanna find you somebody hot and not-so dumb.”

They spent the next twenty minutes scrolling through Buffy’s phone, their laughing increasing with every profile view and swipe. Maybe it was the wine, or Faith’s wicked sense of humor, but it wasn’t as embarrassing as Buffy initially thought. Sure, there were a lot of pervs, bad bios, crappy pictures, and lame pick-up lines (what was _with_ those couples trolling apps looking for a third?). But it was almost nice, not having a strong desire to be ‘on’ and super impressive. Just for fun could _actually_ be fun…what a concept.

So engrossed with swiping, the pair of them looked up in surprise at the sound of the door being unlocked and swinging open.

“Oh shit,” Faith groaned. “I totally forgot we’re supposed to be doing that thing—”

“Hey,” came the voice. Buffy watched as Faith winced and bounded from the couch, discarding her beer on the coffee table in favor of greeting her girlfriend. Kendra’s smile broadened when she stepped inside, and she accepted Faith’s welcoming kiss with a small hum, pulling away and shooting Faith a curious look. “You’re not dressed.”

“Sorry, babe. My mind’s still on station time. I completely forgot. Gimme like thirty and I’ll be ready.”

Kendra rolled her eyes, pairing the familiar gesture with a ghost of a grin. “You get forty. I’m early anyway.” She shed her peacoat, draping it on the rack near the door and followed Faith into the living room. “Buffy. You’re not ready either?”

Buffy took in Kendra’s attire, the fitted sweater dress in a warm wheat color and camel-hued ankle boots complimenting her brown skin, and while she nodded in obvious outfit approval, she was still confused as hell. “Wait, ready? For what?”

Kendra arched a brow, and Buffy wasn’t sure if it was surprise or disapproval. Knowing Kendra, it was probably a combination of both. “Xander and Anya’s engagement party…well one of them. I don’t know how many they’re trying to have but they’re only getting a gift at the actual wedding.”

“Right?” Faith tugged her shirt over her head, tossing it aside as she headed down the hallway towards her room, still yelling at them. “I know this is Anya’s way of getting more presents. Nobody needs three fuckin’ pre-wedding parties. Especially when there might be a snowstorm tonight.”

Buffy groaned. She’d completely forgotten. If it weren’t for the fact that she’d already RSVP’d a month ago and that Anya was actually a good friend, she would have skipped. The pair met in law school, and while Buffy had bowed out after her first year, Anya rose to top of the class at Fordham and found success in the fast-paced yet frighteningly dull world of finance law.

She was a whiz with numbers and terrifying people with facts and solid arguments, and Buffy did not want that energy turned on her for missing any wedding-related activities. Still, it would be weird. She liked both of them, but Anya and Xander had been ‘couple’ friends. Xander and Riley had hit it off immediately, and the four of them (back when Buffy was a ‘them’), would frequently get together and do the double date thing. When she and Riley had fizzled out, Xander and Anya remained steady, enough to get a ring and save a date. Meanwhile the most exciting thing Buffy managed to save lately was a coupon for a free danish from her favorite bakery.

Needless to say, it was a little humiliating.

She sighed and tried to avoid Kendra’s expectant look. “But going means getting up and I’ve got my comfy pants on. And, like Faith said, possible snowstorm.”

“Don’t listen to her, she joined some dating app and she’s looking for dick tonight.”

“Faith!” Buffy glared in the direction of the cackling laughter that followed the rude (and accurate) assessment, glancing back at Kendra who was finger combing her dark curls in the hall mirror and trying not to laugh.

“Nothing to be ashamed about, Buffy” Kendra told her, failing spectacularly to hide the laughter in her accented tone. “Those apps aren’t all bad.”

“We all can’t just find true love at our jobs,” she replied a little defensively, voice rising just to hear Faith’s bedroom grumbles. “You two are lucky, hot firefighter and badass EMT. Ex-law student slash bartender, I just get the mooks and the drunks.”

“Oh yeah, the scene of an emergency’s a great pick up spot,” Faith said, sauntering back into the living room, dressed and clutching stylish black boots. She gave her girlfriend a wink and was rewarded with an eye roll. “Not complaining, though.” 

Buffy wasn’t entirely convinced tonight was a leather pants occasion, considering it was freezing out and they were attending someone’s engagement party. But she had to hand it to her roommate, she wore them well. The black leather were paired with a fitted red blouse, top buttons casually undone in a way few but Faith could pull off. It had all the requirements of Anya’s strict dress policy, if dressy casual lived on the edge and swiped samples from Sephora for fun.

Faith zipped up her ankle boots and tossed a grin in Buffy’s direction. “And if I remember, some of those mooks and drunks had fat pockets, so not all torture. Kendra’s right, though. No shame in the app game. But you need to come. If I gotta suffer through Xander’s dancing and Anya’s everything, I’m dragging both of you with me.”

“Ugh, fine!” With more grumbling than necessary, Buffy pulled herself from the couch, bypassing the two lovebirds and slinking down the hallway towards the guestroom. She hadn’t really bothered to unpack; it was more like a collection of her things placed strategically, allowing for minimum mess and maximum walking space; it probably contributed to her overall unsettled feeling, but it was well-contained chaos, at least.

She made a point to ignore the fact that she hadn't shaved her legs in a week, but did prioritize a shower earlier that day, so some balance in the universe was achieved. Besides, it was cold enough for tights and stylish winter footwear, tugging on both along with a navy A-line dress sprinkled with a gold floral pattern. Securing earrings and a throwing on a simple drop necklace around the dress' stand collar, Buffy was ready in a surprisingly short time, makeup and all. She left her hair down after a quick brush, partly because of laziness and mostly because she realized her phone was still in the living room, unguarded and ripe for Faith's meddling. 

"Oh good, you're distracted" she called out, returning to find Faith on the couch and completely occupied with Kendra's mouth, totally unsurprised to find them engaged in Faith’s other favorite pastime besides extreme noisiness. "I thought you'd be swiping through my matches."

"Glad to keep her busy," Kendra replied as they parted, untangling Faith’s hand from her hair and offering Buffy a small smile. "She has good taste, obviously, but I think you're capable of finding the right match."

"Or the match for right now," Faith shot back. She took advantage of the break to slick on her signature red lipstick and turned her approving eye towards Buffy's outfit. "Not bad. We ready to roll out?"

"Yep. Sooner we leave, the quicker I can get back to my wine part deux."

Kendra laughed, the trio bundling up to prepare for the chilly evening air. "They'll have wine there, Buffy."

"Yeah, but I already paid for this one."

********

There was a small queue outside the bar, and Buffy was glad she'd worn tights, her legs retaining some warmth while they waited. 

"God, could this line move any slower" she grumbled, bouncing on her toes and shoving her hands deeper into her coat pocket. It hadn't felt this cold in the cab ride over and Buffy surmised it was just leftover crankiness at having her plans interrupted for the evening. 

She hadn't bothered to check her phone for alerts, wanting her focus to be on the party that she was fully planning to dash out on in an hour or so. 

"Only Anya would rent out an entire bar on a Friday night for herself," Faith mused, her voice its usual mix of amused and annoyed when it came to the feisty lawyer. They maintained a cordiality, but two strong personalities meant there was some passive aggressive petty on occasion, usually with Buffy as designated referee. 

"Be nice, baby." Kendra squeezed her girlfriend's hand, the action earning her a soft smile from the grumbler in question. "It's her night."

"It's actually _my_ night off…" Buffy mumbled under her breath. It was cut short when someone called her name, the cold and Anya's potential bridezilla antics forgotten at the sight of the approaching figures. "Will! And hey, Tara!"

The pair of women, both bundled in coats, sidled up to the trio, exchanging smiles and hellos while they waited in line. Buffy was glad to see them; befriending Anya and Xander came with Willow—Xander’s oldest friend—and Tara, her girlfriend. The two were sweet and easygoing, and Buffy had vibed with them almost immediately. 

Thankfully, the line had finally started to move along and by the time they'd reached the bouncer at the door, Buffy was actually looking forward to the party. 

That is, until she reached into her purse and realized she'd forgotten her ID. In her wallet. Still on her dresser. Back at the apartment. 

"Shit!" The expletive was enough to turn her friends' heads and Buffy ducked hers in a vain attempt to double check. "I left my wallet."

"Are you serious?" Faith asked. "Well I mean there's no cover, but we can spot you for drinks or whatever."

"Sorry, I gotta see ID." The bouncer, a burly guy with an impressively bushy ginger beard gave her the once over, beady eyes squinting under a black beanie at her face. "You look really young."

"And any other day I'd take that as a compliment," she told him, determined to keep her voice calm despite her growing irritation. She _so_ did not stand in a line for fifteen minutes, freezing her ass off for a party she barely wanted to attend just to get shut down at the door. "I promise you I'm over twenty-one. In fact, I’ll be thirty soon. I'm old, dammit." The argument would've probably been effective if she hadn't stamped her foot after the declaration, but she could chalk that up to the cold and not a momentary brat attack. 

Ginger Beard appeared unmoving, going as far as to shine his flashlight in her face. Her protest of 'seriously' coupled with the sudden blindness was enough of a distraction that she didn't hear Faith's muttered cursing or Willow's surprised squeak. Though she did manage to catch the reason for her friends' reactions once the spots in her eyes cleared up. All six foot plus of him, hulking behind their group and calling her name. 

"Buffy?"

Right. Because the night truly wasn't complete without a dash more humiliation. She turned from the bouncer and his impatient stare to meet the eyes of her ex-boyfriend. He was handsome as ever, in the maddeningly cookie cutter way that used to seem so grounding and All-American when they first met but now especially in the cold and her still fighting with Ginger Gandalf, everything about Riley in the current moment was just grating. 

Especially noticing the tall, willowy brunette resting her gloved hand in the crook of his elbow, recognizing her as the newer and improved girlfriend model. Or Samantha. Whatever. 

Buffy gritted her teeth. "Riley." It was all she would give, not even bothering to acknowledge the other woman. It was childish but she was cold and feeling like shit and _still_ couldn't get into this damn club. 

"Look," she started, turning back to the bouncer, who was busy putting wristbands on her friends. "Are you really not letting me in?"

"That's the rules, kid. No ID, no entry."

Buffy scoffed. "Ugh. Whatever. I'm leaving." 

"Wait," Willow called to her, catching her hand before she could turn away. "Tara and I can go back with you to get your wallet."

"No that's okay," Buffy replied, shaking her head. "I'm not coming back. You guys enjoy yourselves. I'll make it up to Anya and Xander later."

She watched as Riley and Samantha stopped long enough for the bouncer to check their IDs and attach their wristbands, her eyes narrowing on the way her ex's hand fell to the small of his girlfriend's back, ushering her ahead as they walked into the club and suddenly the annoyance shifted into petty anger. He used to do that with _her_. Ugh. It was officially time to go. 

"You sure?" Tara asked. "We didn't know Riley would be here tonight. Xander didn't mention it but he probably forgot, with everything. They're friends too…"

"Yeah well B's _our_ friend so it's still fuck that guy," Faith groused. Buffy felt a surge of warmth for her roommate and her little group. They really were trying, even though she was obviously the fifth wheel. It occurred to her that everyone was paired off, even her ex-boyfriend. And abandoning the evening for a good wallow was absolutely appealing right now.

"It's fine. Really. You go ahead, enjoy the night. I'll just catch a Lyft home." That wouldn't require her wallet, at least. 

"Text us when you get in," Kendra told her firmly, giving her hand a small squeeze. She exchanged goodbyes with her girls and with a last parting glare for the ginger asshole bouncer, she left the scene of her latest humiliation, pulling out her phone to order the Lyft. 

********

Her foul mood had lessened considerably once she returned to the apartment. Warm and settled in with her second bottle of Riesling, Buffy made sure to text her friends, and Anya as well. She knew some light groveling would be in order with the bride to be, but another problem for another day, and for a sober Buffy.

This evening’s Buffy was sorted with her wine and the best of Date2Night, scrolling through the app and the various profiles that had matched with hers. The lack of expectation was liberating. No pressure to be ‘on’ or settle for fakery. There was still plenty to cringe about, though. Her first experience with the messenger feature of the app was kind of a mess.

The guy, an attractive fitness trainer from Manhattan had immediately hit her up through the Date2Night instant message feature when she swiped right on him, intrigued by his nice smile and cute puppy in his profile picture. She’d barely gotten a greeting typed out before being bombarded with a dick pic and an offer to video chat. Needless to say, ‘Jude, 29, Manhattan’ was swiftly blocked.

An hour later, ‘Trey from Queens’, ‘Alex from Chelsea’, and ‘Carson from Brooklyn’ were added to the blocklist and Buffy’s buzz (and patience) was wearing thin. It really shouldn’t have surprised her, the lack of bare minimum effort and she hadn’t been out of the loop _that_ long but god, guys were totally useless. If the conversation wasn’t dry, they were immediately demanding a video chat for—what she could assume, given the hour—a hookup. Which, okay fine she was looking for a hookup too. But being treated like an actual person instead of a convenient hole for dating app dick wasn’t asking for much. 

Her glass was empty and so was the wine bottle, and she was tempted to call it a night when her phone chirped with a doorbell alert from the app. Frowning, she finished dumping the empty bottle in the trash before grabbing her phone from the kitchen counter. 

"Please don't be a weird dick pic," she grumbled. 

She almost resented the cheerfulness of the alert itself, the exclamation point at the end of 'You Have a New Match!' much too positive, considering her experience so far. Thankfully, she remained dick pic free (so far). As a matter of fact, he looked far from it. 

"William from Williamsburg…" Buffy did a quick rundown of the new guy's stats. Thirty-two, gainfully employed. "Likes: good vinyl, good beer, and a good book...okay, potential." She chuckled at that and zoomed in on the picture. It was hard to where it was taken, but the picture itself was nice to look at. And so was the guy. The word 'striking' sprang to mind, which was weirdly old-school, but it suited him. Soft-looking mouth, lips curved in a slight grin that just edged into a smirk. Bright blue eyes and tousled sandy blond curls. He was leaning against a brick building, arms crossed in a pose that seemed more open than intimidating. It was a good look. 

"Not bad." It helped that they'd both selected the 'casual' option, relieving her of any potential overthinking about the future. Besides, the present was full of it. Because her impulsive fingers had swiped right on William from Williamsburg and was already opening the instant message window. "Dammit," she swore, chalking it up to equal parts wine and Buffy hormones. Still, the typing icon was blinking at her, and the Faith in her head was already picking out the perfect booty call lingerie (panties optional, apparently), so she bit the bullet and went for it. 

**BUFFY:** Hi!

Inwardly, she cringed. "He's gonna think you're an idiot." The momentary lapse and the following chiding was unnecessary though, because almost immediately, there was a reply. 

**WILLIAM:** Hey. 

**WILLIAM:** Feels like I shoulda said more. You had an exclamation point and everything. 

**BUFFY:** I did. You’re slacking already. I hope you feel the shame. 

**WILLIAM:** Oh, I do. Kinda stings. 

**BUFFY:** My work is done. 

**WILLIAM:** Funny, I didn't see 'grammar domme' in your profile. 

**BUFFY:** Damn, knew I missed a kink. 

**WILLIAM:** So, you really a bartender, or is Empress of the Exclamation Points the actual gig?

 **BUFFY:** Both. And I am so stealing that title. Makes me feel like I need a crown.

 **WILLIAM:** It's yours. You'd look fetching in a crown. 

**BUFFY:** Two compliments already. You're officially the most interesting match I've talked to so far. 

**WILLIAM:** Didn’t even have to break out the smolder. That's a bit of alright. 

**BUFFY:** Not so fast. Keep that handy. I'd like to see it. 

**WILLIAM:** Yeah? Fair warning, it's a good one. 

**BUFFY:** You're talking to an Empress, pal. I can handle it. 

**WILLIAM:** Name the time and place, your Grace. 

**BUFFY:** Tonight? 

The question flew from her fingers before her brain had a chance to second guess it. It was impulsive, very un-Buffy like, but her gut was very fine with it. Granted, her gut was also full of alcohol, but her brain was clear. William was funny and cute; it was a solid start for a one-night stand. 

The typing bubble was still moving, and for a panic-filled moment Buffy wondered if she'd read their back and forth wrong. Sure, they vibed, and his profile _did_ say casual. But maybe it was too fast? Worrying her bottom lip, Buffy flopped back on the sofa and waited for the reply. Thankfully, she didn't have to wait too long, and she sighed at the relief that followed. 

**WILLIAM:** Yeah, gorgeous. Tonight's great. 

**BUFFY:** Yeah? Okay. Your place?

 **WILLIAM:** Sure. 

**BUFFY:** Okay!

 **BUFFY:** Figured I'd throw another exclamation out there, help the vibe. 

**WILLIAM:** Enthusiasm noted and returned, Empress. 

**BUFFY:** Are you okay to video chat? Be good to see you f2f. You know, make sure you aren't trying to harvest my kidney or anything. 

**WILLIAM:** Damn. Ruin the surprise why don't you. It's fine. Call you in 5?

 **BUFFY:** Sure!

Flirty and wanton over chat was one thing, but video would require a different kind of boldness. Luckily, Faith kept a bottle of whiskey in the fridge and a shot would work. Buffy was still licking the smooth taste of Jameson from her lips when the Date2Night alert was sounding on her phone. It was a worry-free way of connecting through the app’s video messaging, keeping numbers safe and contact only through the site unless both parties agreed.

“No muss no fuss,” she mumbled, giving her hair a slight shake out. She was still wearing her dress from the aborted night out but didn’t give it another thought. It was still cute and workable for a video chat. She accepted the invite from William, her nerves doing a slight backflip of anticipation as the call began, and suddenly there he was, live and in color.

And oh yeah, still striking.

“You’re beautiful.”

Buffy started at the sound of his voice, rich and deep and… “And…you’re English?” She shook her head, a laugh slipping out between her smile. “I don’t know why that came out like a question. I mean, obviously you are. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

His laugh was warm, bringing a flush to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the whiskey shot. “S’alright. Happens more than you think.”

“Tell the truth, you like to surprise people with it, don’t you?”

“Pleading the fifth on that one. I will say it does get a swoon or two.” He was sporting glasses, the thin gold wire and tortoiseshell frames only adding to his appeal. And those cheekbones…

“I can see why. It’s a good look.”

“Now who’s getting loose with the compliments? So, this is the place.” The camera shifted out of front face mode, offering her a view of his apartment. He appeared to be in his living room, and she could easily spot the interior brick walls and a large bookshelf taking up most of it filled with what looked like books and an impressive music collection.

The décor was simple but tasteful, lots of art and cozy looking furniture, and Buffy was pleased to see him be so agreeable about showing her around.

“Very nice. No serial killer vibes at all.”

“Gave me plenty of time to hide the good shit, you did.” He grinned briefly, blue eyes twinkling with amusement. A scar bisected one eyebrow, but it only added to his appeal. And that definitely wasn’t the whiskey talking. “So, meet your standards?”

“Standards met, slightly exceeded” Buffy replied with a nod. “B+ effort.” She paused, thinking over her next words. “Thanks for being so cool about it. I don’t usually do this kinda thing.”

William offered her a small smile. “Cheers to new experiences then.”

His smile put her at ease, and Buffy quickly jotted down his address when he rattled it off. “Looks like we’re all set, William from Willamsburg.”

“Guess we are, Buffy from—bloody hell, the Village?”

“Yup. So, I’ll see you oh—two days from now. Maybe a day if the trains run on time.”

She could practically feel the rumble of his laughter and suppressed her shiver at the sound. Which was absolutely the alcohol’s fault.

“So far, I’d say it’s worth the wait.” It was hard to keep reminding herself her reaction was all on the sneaky boredom wine when he said cute shit like that.

Her grin was absolutely uncontained, and she ducked her head to get her shit together before meeting his gaze. “Definite motivation. See you soon. I’m expecting a crown, too.”

“I’ll see what I can dig up, your majesty.”

They ended the call, and Buffy scrambled from the couch. Was she really about to go all the way to Brooklyn for a booty call?

Absolutely.

But first, she definitely needed to shave her legs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So initially this was one monster chapter but it felt better to split them, which means you get two for one, like it's drink specials night at the bar (y'all remember bars? Going out to them and socializing? Sigh). Anyway, let's get this rolling. Read on for thangs.

_Trust me, when I meet him_  
_I'm fucking him on sight_

_-_ **Doja Cat,** 'Cyber Sex'

* * *

**Friday Night**

William absently raked a hand through his hair, unthinkingly mussing the sandy locks into what was sure to be unruly looking curls. Nice sight for his evening guest. Which, if he were being honest, had completely caught him off guard.

Joining Date2Night had been a whim, and—since this was still honesty hour, apparently—a desperate one. A rash and impulsive choice to fuel his need for distraction and he knew it was a reactionary tactic to the pesky other shoe that had dropped only a few days ago.

The discovery of his ex’s cleared out closet, the empty dresser drawers, bare bathroom shelves, and the note explaining all of it, so simple and yet frustratingly callous in a way he should have seen coming and didn’t because he was who he was, and that was a stupid, lovesick git.

William shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that confusing mess of situation. Not tonight.

No, he was still trying to wrap his head around the after-hours someone due to arrive any minute. Well, hopefully. His pacing carried him to the bank of windows along the living room wall, blue eyes peering out into the chilly evening. Already, a light snowfall had begun and briefly he wondered if that would put a damper on the plans they’d decided on, and whether or not ‘Buffy, 29’ would change her mind.

Was it a dick move, having her come to him? Then again, she’d been the one to put it out there, practically inviting herself over and William, surprised by her boldness (and yeah, more than a little into it) had readily agreed. He didn’t think she would have done the same if the situation were reversed. If he’d offered to show up at her place at near-midnight. But no, she'd made the first move. She was coming to him. She was forward, and he liked that in a fling.

Really, he hadn’t expected anything to come from their matching. He’d only been on the app since the great ex-purge, and aside from a few stilted chats, there hadn’t been much connecting. William knew part of that was him. He’d start the chat and lose his nerve, feeling like he was struggling to muster the boastful swagger he’d carefully cultivated for years before he’d gone and got himself lost in love and in a relationship. Now, it was hard to bounce back. Granted, it’d only been three days since his ex’s disappearing act, but he was tired of wallowing.

He wanted a change. Maybe he wanted his ex back. Or maybe just wanted to rub his getting over it’ in her stupid, gorgeous face. Either way, it was all impossible without getting the ol’ charm up and running again.

And then there was Buffy. She was stunning. With those pretty green eyes, looking like sunshine on the shores in her profile picture. The name and the bouncy golden hair totally gave her California girl vibes and William knew she was just what he needed. A bubbly piece of fluff to make him forget. Some flirty conversation, at the most. Their back and forth in chat and on video had been a welcome bit of fun, with her sharp sense of humor and witty quips. It was all surface talk but didn’t feel artificial.

He wasn’t stupid; he knew exactly he was getting himself into. No frills, no expectations. A night with someone new, someone really beautiful. Hell, he’d welcome the lack of drama, given the recent turn his life had taken.

Not that he was planning to dwell on… _that._ Nope.

He sipped from the drink he’d poured nearly an hour ago, before he’d gotten distracted with showering and making his place presentable for Buffy’s arrival. It hadn’t taken long to get ready, mostly because he felt silly getting too dressed up for someone coming over in a hook up capacity. Still, he managed to clean up pretty nicely, the fitted black t-shirt showing off his arms and chest, and pairing it with worn, dark jeans.

The sound of a car door slamming had him shook him out of his mind wandering and he peered out the window again. He’d missed whoever had gotten out, the car already driving away, but it had stopped in front of his building. He briefly paused by the kitchen, topping off his whiskey and pulling out another bottle from the fridge and a glass, leaving it all on the living room coffee table. The knock at the door shouldn’t have startled him, and William rolled his eyes at the small jump before heading over to let Buffy in. “Get it together, pillock” he grumbled to himself, dropping the scolding in favor of a small smile as he opened the door.

********

Between showering, shaving, and a very frantic inner debate on the business of booty call underwear, Buffy had left a little later than she intended. It took a train ride and a Lyft to get to William’s address in Brooklyn and by the time she’d emerged from the car and in front of the gorgeous apartment building, snow had begun to fall.

She stopped briefly once she’d gotten inside the main door, long enough to text the address to her girls, along with William’s social media info. Casual Hookup Buffy was still Cautious Buffy, after all.

Inside, it was only a short walk to William’s place, traipsing up the old steps with the ornate wood detailing on the handrail that led to his second-floor walkup. With a small, fortifying inhale, she knocked at his front door. It didn’t take long for him to answer, and briefly she wondered if he’d been just as anxious as she was.

“Hello, Buffy. Come in.”

His face didn’t show it, at least she wasn’t sure. She was busy taking in the visual of seeing him in person. While he wasn’t overly tall or hulking, he was still taller than her and striking, wearing a tight t-shirt over very nice arms. Buffy paused the ogling long enough to return his grin and greeting, slipping past when he held the door open for her to step inside.

The apartment was gorgeous, brick walls and high ceilings with exposed beams and duct work that was trendy without trying too hard. There were tall windows promising lots of light exposure with a gorgeous view, and an open main room that served as living space, with what she could see was a pretty nice kitchen.

“Wow, your place is beautiful” she remarked, smile growing when he offered to take her jacket. She tugged off her little grey beanie, stuffing it into her pocket and shrugged out of her black parka, draping it over his outstretched arm.

“Ta. I like it well enough.” William nodded in the direction of leather couch in the living room space. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get this sorted.”

The room was warm, and Buffy watched him as he hung up her jacket near the door, admiring his swaggering gait and the fit of his jeans. She settled on the couch, sinking into the soft brown leather with a small hum. Her palms smoothed over her denim-covered knees, the nerves returning slightly now that she was here and they were actually alone together. But so far, so good. He was handsome and a good host.

“So,” she started, turning when he joined her on the couch. “I believe I was promised a crown. Gotta say, I’m kinda disappointed you didn’t follow through.”

William’s laughter was just as lush and shiver-inducing in person, and Buffy found herself smiling along with him, watching the lift of his lips in a slight smirk. “Oh, I came through.” He leaned forward and plucked the bottle from the large wooden coffee table, the amber liquid gleaming in the low light of the living room as he presented the Crown Royal to Buffy. “Your Crown. Does the lady approve?”

“Definitely goes with what I’m wearing,” Buffy joked, her grin broadening as she plucked the bottle from his hands. Their hands brushed and she didn’t mind that his touch lingered; long, pale fingers traced the line of her knuckles, sending a little jolt of heat racing down her spine. “And I can appreciate good punning.”

They both chose to ignore the small hitch in her breathing, William leaning over to grab the second ice-filled glass and resting it atop her thigh. The cold felt nice through her jeans and Buffy gave another little shiver at the sensation. He was catching her off-guard, in a really good way. Probably best if she kept the drinking to a minimum, though. Wine Buffy was one thing, but a whiskey Buffy was wily and very unpredictable.

Still, she poured out her present, filling the short highball a third of the way with the Crown and capping it off. She waited for William to take the bottle and for him to pick up his own glass, letting him tap the rim of his to hers in a toast.

“Cheers.”

The liquor went down smooth, the warmth of it bringing a flush to her cheeks and slowly spread all over. “Oh, that’s nice.” Nice enough for her to down most of the glass, her tongue darting out to lick at the traces of its taste on full lips. Buffy met William’s gaze, noting the way his blue eyes lingered on her mouth and her smile was slow and instinctive.

His own followed suit, with him seemingly unashamed to be caught ogling. After all, it was what they were there for. The mood lighting, the liquor…Buffy suddenly felt hot under the soft grey sweater she wore. Her fingers traced the collar, tugging gently and welcoming the cool air that slipped past the fabric.

“Want a little more?” William asked, the question a quiet rumble, a long finger idly skimmed the rim of his own glass. “Or you wanna try somethin’ else?”

Buffy shook her head, humming at the feel of her loosened muscles and the jellied sensation that left her feeling incredibly relaxed, and it only grew with each sip, though she eased up with smaller takes.

Green eyes followed the wandering gaze of William’s blues, the way his lips lifted in a smirk when she moved her head, long blonde hair shifting as well. She propped an elbow on the back of the couch and leaned against her palm, hair sliding to one shoulder. “You’re very pretty.”

The compliment caught him off guard, a bit of delight mixed with his surprise and she was pleased to see him smile at it. William took her glass and put it with his on the table, allowing him to move closer. He mirrored her pose; knee bent and draped an arm across the couch back. Boldly, he reached over, twining a long blonde lock around his finger, enjoying the feel of the silky strands. “Think that’s my line, pet” he replied smoothly, watching her watch the movement of his hand.

“It can still be. I welcome all compliments and praise.”

There was something to be said about open and clear intentions, taking the guesswork out of what would happen. Buffy knew what she wanted from the moment she’d asked to come over. Sure, the awkwardness was still present. She wanted, he wanted (she was sure, especially with the way he looked at her), but the mechanics of it all still eluded her, unsure if diving right in was the right way to tackle it.

But knowing the endgame of a hookup hadn’t alleviated the tension. It was charged, definitely not all the liquor’s doing. She felt the attraction in her gut (and other places a little lower). It was wild and weird to have such a reaction to someone she’d literally just met a few hours ago but that was definitely the lust and liquor talking. She liked the reckless feeling, flying without the net of expectation and wondering where it would all lead. Just being in the now.

“You’re soddin’ gorgeous,” William obliged, letting his hand drop, coming to rest on her thigh and she could feel the heat of his palm through the denim. That warmth grew as he closed the distance between them, his fingers walking up her jean-clad leg to grip her hip in a steadying hold as he watched her intently. “Can I kiss you, Buffy?”

“Please.” It came out breathier than she’d like, which she was more than happy to blame on the liquor. Or his very distracting mouth. Soft and inviting, and a small sigh slipped from her lips to his when they met, the barely there press not nearly enough. So, she borrowed a bit of his boldness, returning it to him with fervor as she cupped his face, thumb tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone.

There was a certain thrill with kissing someone new, learning their lips and the movement of their mouths. It was trial and error, and Buffy huffed a laugh when their noses bumped more than once, grinning when William eventually let her take the lead. “Bossy,” he murmured, happily acquiescing, the sound melting into a groan when Buffy nibbled at his bottom lip.

“Yuh huh,” she whispered in agreement, breaking away just a little to tease him with gentle pecks. “Good?”

He curled his arm around her waist, pulling her tighter to him. “Really fuckin’ good.”

Buffy gave a small hum to that, eagerly parting her lips and deepening the kiss. She could feel her heart beating, pulsing in time to the flutter happening in the pit of her stomach, and the soft clench between her thighs and she moaned at the sensation of it all. William swallowed it eagerly, his free hand working its way back into her hair, letting the cornsilk strands sift through his fingers.

She felt him shifting their position, his lean, muscled form moving forward, pressing her further into the leather couch. Her back rested on the arm of it, but with their knees still bent, it was a little awkward and Buffy was flexible, sure but it was hard to maneuver with him so close and his lips so damn distracting, and all her weight straining in her legs. She attempted to shift and was met with resistance, the sharp tug to her scalp taking her by surprise and she broke from their kiss.

“Ouch!” her hiss of pain caused him to still, blue eyes lifting to meet hers.

“Shit. You alright?”

“No, no it’s okay. I’m fine. It’s just…you’re kinda on my hair.”

William looked at his hand, still tangled in pretty golden tresses, his palm pressed into the arm of the couch enough to completely limit her movement and he cursed quietly. “Sorry, luv.” His grin was sheepish as he shifted over, dropping his hand and pushing up slightly. “Hold on a tic.” Planting a foot on the floor, he gripped her legs, parting them enough to rest comfortably between, grinning broadly at Buffy when she hooked a slender thigh around his hips.

“Better?” he asked, hand settling on her waist while the other cupped her cheek.

Buffy wrapped her arm under his, her hips giving a slight roll when she leaned up to meet his lips once more. “Mmm, much.” She let him set the speed, chasing the languid pace of his kissing, sinking into the pleasure of the firm pressure and the heady taste of him, blending nicely with the smoky sweetness of the whiskey. “You’re really good at this…”

She was rewarded with a tantalizing nibble of her bottom lip and one of those unfairly sexy laughs. Pressed to his chest, she felt it first, the rumble of it causing another pulse between her legs and she pushed her hips to his in a slow rock. 

“Fuck, do that again.”

Buffy obliged, a quiet moan tumbling out and swallowed by his lips when he met her hips with a push of his own. And god, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done this, making out on a couch like a teenager…come to think of it, it’d probably been since she was an _actual_ teenager. And now she was doing it with a sorta-stranger.

A striking sorta-stranger with a nice accent and a _really_ nice butt.

Her hand drifted lower, pushing past his hips and into the back pocket of his jeans, gripping his ass and giggling at his reaction, the sudden jerk and the surprised moan.

She tasted the smirk that curved his lips, the breathless mumble he pressed to her mouth, words getting lost as their kisses deepened, tongue teasing his with a soft caress and swallowing the sounds he made, rough and rumbling. Buffy could feel the hard line of his bulge nestled between her legs, the promise of more to come lingering with every groan, and she wanted more ( _really_ wanted), even if the shamelessness provided by the whiskey only took her bold so far.

Until William’s kisses drifted lower, skimming her jaw, lips hotly questing against the silky curve of her neck, teasing her flesh with more of those nibbles until she was writhing against him because god, it’d been too damn long.

“Buffy…” Her name was a muffled groan at her neck, mouth still sucking at her while his hips pushed insistently at her center, stoking the flutters there. “…tell me what you want.”

He’d given her an in, and the reckless, sexy option would’ve been to return the simple words with something hot and dirty, something specific and quiver-inducing because that’s exactly the kind of things wanton wine and whiskey women did after inviting themselves over to a sorta-stranger’s ridiculously nice apartments for meaningless sex.

“Oh…” It was a total stalling tactic, her short-circuited brain working to craft a coy response to the demand. And it wasn’t helping, the distracting rub of his glasses frame against her skin coupled with the gentle friction of their hips and Buffy cupped his cheek, pulling William from her neck.

He was pretty, skin all flushed, lips kiss swollen and looking tempting, so she indulged, slanting her mouth to his in a slow, teasing pull, lingering long enough for another proper taste of him before pulling away. “Can I see your bedroom?”

The surprise on his face quickly gave way to a slow smile and William nodded. “Think we can make that happen.” He kept his arm wrapped around her middle, pulling her up with him into a sitting position. There was at least a good five minutes more of kissing, large hand palming her ass, guiding her hips into his until they were both panting, the sound mixing comically with the obnoxiously loud creaking coming from the leather couch.

It knocked them out of the moment, enough for the pair to part with an awkward laugh shared between them and William chased it with a small kiss. “Bedroom?” he asked, almost unnecessarily as Buffy immediately nodded and slid from his embrace. Her legs felt a little wobbly, from the liquor or his damn tempting mouth…entirely a toss-up. And she accepted the hand he’d held out to her once he’d gotten to his feet. She pointedly ignored the very noticeable bulge in his jeans, like she hadn’t been grinding against it for the better part of an hour, instead following him down the darkened hallway, past a few closed doors before entering through the only open one.

“This is it.” It was large, big enough to house a king-sized bed, tastefully decorated in a soft-looking black comforter set and plenty of cozy pillows. The rest of the design seemed to follow the look of the bed, comfortable and stylish, with candles on the nightstands and art and music posters framed along the grey walls. The only one not painted was the brick wall housing large windows, with gauzy curtains drawn.

“It’s nice,” she remarked, green eyes meeting his intense gaze. He’d been watching her watch his space, and she shivered a little under his look. His blue eyes seemed brighter, the light on the nightstand washing the room in a soft glow and Buffy was suddenly very aware of the situation.

She was in his room.

They were about to do things.

She did not remember his last name, at all.

And she really, _really_ wanted to kiss him again.

“It works,” he replied. There was more, she was sure of it, because he kind of seemed like a rambler. But there’d been a moment of boldness and she seized it, as easily as she grabbed his shirt, little fingers gripping the soft cotton of his tee to tug him closer, muting the sound of his surprised grunt when their mouths met in a heated, hurried kiss.

Buffy was glad he left the business of leading their lips to her while his hands occupied elsewhere. They wandered, shifting lower to grip her thighs, giving no warning outside of a low grunt when he lifted her easily. She moaned at that, wrapping her legs around his narrow hips, and her heart jumped a bit when she felt herself falling.

“Oh!” The squeal slipped out unchecked, and she would’ve scrambled had it not been for her back hitting the mattress. She bounced against it, in what she hoped was at least a sexy way, and judging from the laughter that followed, rich and a little smug, she hoped it wasn’t as farcical as it felt.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” came the words that didn’t sound the least bit sorry. Just for that, she jerked her legs against his hips, causing him to lurch forward and he would’ve certainly landed atop her if he hadn’t put his hands out. Palms braced on the bed, he eyed her, unable to even hold the glare at the sound of her giggle.

“Whoops.”

It was enough to break the ice…or at least crack it a little. The tension from earlier, the heat that stirred on the couch slowly returned. Her fingers tangled in his hair, combing through the curls while he fiddled with the button to her jeans. It wasn’t long before she felt the insistent press of his fingers, pushing past her open button and zipper and tracing the top of her black panties.

Their lips parted, green eyes met blue and William waited for her to nod before moving further. Buffy gasped at the feel of cool fingers meeting her flushed skin, deft digits stroking her curls, a single digit dipping lower. Turned on as she was, her body’s was a little slow with the signal and not quite ready for his questing fingers, and she visibly winced at the feeling, more annoyed with her body’s betrayal than anything.

“S’alright,” William offered, petting her pussy with gentler touches. “Just means we’ve got more time for this.” He claimed her mouth once more, tongue moving in tandem with the feather light strokes he teased her center with, sipping at her breathy moans and returning them with groans of his own.

Buffy’s legs spread wider, constricted by her jeans and the fingers currently working her over, but she managed to move with him, riding the motion circling her clit in a gentle rock, and it wasn’t long before her pussy got the memo, and William’s thick fingers were soaked with her obvious need, swiping through the slickness at her center, slow and teasing. “Ohh…” The groan was loud, and she blushed, slightly embarrassed by the unchecked reaction but god, it’d been so long since hands other than her own had gone exploring.

William wasn’t ruffled by it, eyes shining at the sound and he kept his gaze on her as he continue to tease, a single finger swirling around her clit at a languid pace. “Feel good?” he asked, his tone almost conversational and Buffy gave it a short nod. “Tell me what you want.”

There went that question again. She was sure he thought it was hot (and okay, it kind of was), except she didn’t know how to answer, and was starting to feel like she was being put on the spot. Talking seemed to be his thing, far as she could tell, and that was definitely not her strong suit. At least not the reckless, dirty kind. Not unless a good babble would get his motor revving. Another one of those torturously slow turns around her clit jarred her out of her wandering thoughts and back to the present with a muted moan and Buffy pulled him into another kiss.

This, this was good. Soft mouth, full lips, and that curling trick he did with his tongue that made her brain go blank. Blissed out by the kissing and William’s quiet groans, Buffy untangled her hands from his hair, fingers skimming his broad shoulders, feeling the firm muscles of his back under the black shirt that she decided needed to come off, right now. Insistent hands tugged it out from where it was tucked into his jeans, warm fingers pushing past the hem and meeting his skin.

“That’s it.” She licked at his sound of approval, pouting when he moved away, lifting up just enough to shed his shirt and whoa. He was a slight man, but well-muscled, her gaze greedy as she drank in the sight of his pecs and defined abs. The picture he made, tousled curls and glasses slightly askew, looking like some debauched nerd but it really worked.

Still she was glad to see the glasses go, if only for safety reasons. William slipped off the frames and set them on the closest nightstand, never breaking the connection of their bodies. Buffy tugged him back down, letting her hands trail down his chest, feeling his stomach twitch under her explorations.

“Your turn,” he told her, tugging at her sweater, his grin bordering on cocky when she pulled her hands away with an obvious pout. Buffy lifted her arms, letting him undress her, peeling off her sweater and tank top. Her bra was cute, a black lace number she was only too happy to finally have a reason to wear and judging from the hungry look in his eyes, following the curve of the cups that pushed and lifted her cleavage in delectable offering, it’d been the right move. “Don’t you look a treat.”

It occurred to her then, that he was the first person to see her naked in quite some time. In a way, it was freeing. He was a sorta-stranger after all, and this was a one-time deal. It calmed the automatic reaction to shift into insecure mode. The whiskey and wine helped too, admittedly. Still, her fingers itched with the instinct to cover herself, and she sat up, gathering a bit more boldness as she instead undid the clasps, shrugging out of the silk and lace and shivering as the cool air kissed her nipples.

“Fuck…” It was hard to miss the awe in his voice, though she felt it in his touch. Cupping her breasts in his palms, large and warm as they were, thumbs brushing her sensitive buds all while his gaze found hers, so focused on her reaction it almost knocked her out of the moment, despite how good his hands felt. She was arching into it, pushing against the tease and tug, the pleasure racing in a heated line straight to her clit and Buffy sighed.

“Please…”

“What?” his words were as whispered as her own, and he leaned down, asking leaving the question against the heated skin at her neck. Her collarbone came next, tasting the dew gathered in the dip as he gave her dusky-colored nipple a tweak. “Hmm?”

Buffy clutched his hand, guiding it lower along the smooth expanse of flat stomach, their fingers skimming creamy skin and pushing past her jeans, right back into her panties. It’d been the right move, judging from the heated look William gave when he lifted his head, their eyes meeting just as their fingers brushed her clit and Buffy whimpered. She pulled her hand from his, letting it drift to his fluffy curls while she gave a breathless nod.

His lips lifted in a slow smirk and he sank a single finger into her wetness. “Don’t worry, pet. I’ve got you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A not so nice morning after, with bonus unfortunate weather. The next chapter is long AF and in the editing process with an expected update coming this weekend.

_I'm not here for love tonight  
The way you touch just don't feel right _

_\--_ **Rina Sawayama** , 'Cyber Stockholm Syndrome' 

* * *

**Early Saturday Morning**

Waking up with a headache was annoying.

It was slight, with just enough throb to remind Buffy of her choices. A light scolding in the form of heavy eyelids and a cottonmouth that could only come from a night of drinking.

Ugh.

She blinked awake, thankful for the relative dimness that greeted her. At least she remembered to pull the curtains shut. Score one for Last Night Buffy. It wasn’t all reckless drinking and bad choices.

That is, until she heard it. The snuffling sound coming from her left and with a wary eye she turned, greeted by the sight of a well-muscled chest and a soft looking mouth parted in a light snore.

Shit.

 _Shit_.

The previous evening came rushing back to her, in flashes and soaked in some really great-tasting Crown Royal.

Not her room.

But William’s.

William.

Sex with William.

(Kinda…awkward sex with William.)

Passing out in William’s bed after said sex.

 _God_.

Buffy stifled the groan threatening to slip out and chanced a glance at her admittedly handsome bed buddy. He was sprawled on his back, an arm thrown over his eyes, looking very peaceful and completely oblivious to her next day turmoil.

Peeking under the sheets, she realized she was very much naked…and so was he. (And boy was he!) A flash of images from their night before snuck into her subconscious. A ripped condom package, her bare legs wrapped around his hips as he gripped hers. The meeting of their bodies, the wet sound of it loud in between their grunts and groans.

God, when she nearly cracked her skull on his headboard after a particularly hard thrust and he actually paused mid-stroke to ask if she needed aspirin…she was still feeling the slight ripple of mortification.

There was a telltale soreness in her thighs and at the meeting of them; she remembered that feeling. She was still trying to sort through the vivid details. Last night had been, well…an experience. A waffling between ‘okay’ and ‘absolutely awkward’ and she truly couldn’t decide which side to land on, without coffee and some kind of carbs covered in butter. Once her brain finished its spectacular solo tap dance on her skull, she’d totally be up for processing the evening. Back at her apartment. In her own bed.

But first, she wouldn’t say no to lying down. The sheets were nice, the pillows were soft, and judging from the sliver of grey peeking beneath the curtains, it was still early enough for her to pretend she’d woken up a lot later.

She made a mental note to retrieve her clothes and coat as soon as she woke up again. If she were lucky, she could make a hasty exit before he even woke up.

********

**(Later) Saturday Morning**

As it turns out, she was _not_ lucky.

The room was still dim, her head still throbbed slightly, and she struggled to rescue her clothing still scattered around the bed. Buffy had only managed to find her panties and tug them on when William’s light snuffling turned into a muffled groan. She stumbled her way back to the bed and slipped between the sheets, feigning a blinking wakeness right at the same time he turned to her.

“Mornin’,” came his greeting, rough and sleepy and combined with his curls, she had to admit it was kinda cute.

“Hi.” She added a small yawn to her greeting. It wouldn’t be winning Oscars any time soon, but her performance worked well enough, judging from William’s sleepy-filled obliviousness.

Blue eyes blinked blearily at her, and she watched his face change from sleepy to slightly amused, lips twitching with a small smile. “Your hair…”

Buffy groaned, automatically reaching for what was sure to be the golden bird’s nest that had apparently taken over her hair. “Stupid bedhead.”

“Leave it,” William insisted, still staring at her with that slight, bordering on shy smile. “You’re gorgeous.”

She ignored the warmth that flooded her cheeks at the compliment, but still offered him a grin, because that had been pretty darn smooth for ‘just waking up’ charm. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Daylight brought some perspective to the current situation. And in the morning, a sober Buffy with sore thighs and rumpled hair was wondering how to do a morning-after. She was as rusty on those as she was meaningless hookups. Especially this morning, after their night together that she still didn’t have the bandwidth to describe. It would be harder to make her escape now, with William awake, all sleep-rumpled and totally naked under the sheet.

She must have zoned out while contemplating her plan for a semi-polite escape because William had to repeat his offer of breakfast before she snapped to attention.

“Wait, what? Sorry.”

“Breakfast, pet. Could make you something. Toast, bit of eggs and bacon? Got coffee, too. Or tea if that’s your thing.”

It was a sweet offer, and Buffy could tell from his look, the carefully restrained anticipation lingering in blue eyes that he wanted her to take him up on the offer, but she couldn’t. Their night together was…again, no words. And she didn’t know where he landed, how he’d felt about their hook up, but she’d be happy to avoid the obstacle of awkward small talk after the fact if she could really help it.

“I-I think I should probably get home,” she replied, quickly tacking on a genial smile. “But thank you…for the offer. It’s just, you know, long ride back.”

His gaze shifted to something unreadable and his smile dimmed, lips thinning to a faint frown. “Sure. Figured I’d ask.”

He got up, and Buffy followed suit, watching as he stalked from his side of the bed, swiping last night’s jeans from the floor and tugging them on. He clearly had no issue with the nudity, giving her an eyeful of his butt and other bits before zipping up.

Buffy hesitated, sheet pressed to her chest before deciding she didn’t care either, letting it fall back to the rumpled bed; he’d seen plenty last night, in at least two different positions. Besides in a few minutes she’d be gone anyway, might as well give him one last look. She spotted her bra at the foot of the bed and slipped from the tangle of sheets to snatch up the black lace and clip it back on. She’d just managed to zip up her jeans when he spoke again, breaking the weird silence that had settled between them.

“Had a good time?”

His tone was careful and deceptively casual, and Buffy figured it was understandable, considering how strange it’d be to carry on a conversation with someone who was obviously trying to get the hell out of dodge. Still, she could do polite.

“Um. Yeah. It was…” She was struggling to put it into words, her mind flickering back to the visual of her straddling him, sinking down on his thick length and working in a steady rhythm that was good at first but abruptly halted by one hell of a charley horse. Her squeak of pain and subsequent scramble off his lap caused him to jerk his hips and somehow bite his tongue in the process.

The next few minutes had been filled with hisses of pain (her), and rough curses (him) as they attempted to salvage the momentum Buffy shook her head free of the scene, instead trying to focus on the aftermath. He’d massaged her calf, long fingers easing the tension out of her muscles while she soothed his sore tongue with gentle kisses, both doing their best to bring back the mood. “It was…nice.”

Even she had to cringe a bit at the long pause and pretty inadequate summary, and she happened to catch the way his jaw tightened and the hesitation in his movements, fingers stilling from his task at hand. But it was lightning quick and then he was back to tugging on his t-shirt, leaving Buffy in that stony quiet while she retrieved her tank top and sweater. Fully clothed, it was a little easier to talk to him, so she tried an attempt to smooth things over.

“I mean, I’ve never done something like this before. But it was good. Really.”

“Didn’t seem like a newbie last night,” he muttered, raking long fingers through his unruly curls.

“What? No, I didn’t mean…I’ve had sex before. Plenty of it! Well, not like that…” God, she could feel the babble bubbling, buoyed by her own nervousness and his scrutinizing gaze as she spoke. “ _So_ not the point. I meant, this was my first time doing the dating app hookup thing.”

His head tilted in silent questioning, eyes narrowing slightly. “Uh-huh.” The tone was brusque and unbelieving, and that made Buffy pause.

“What?” she asked.

William shrugged. “Well, it’s what everybody says, innit?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The ‘I’ve never done this before’ bit. Everybody says it.”

Buffy’s frown deepened, and she wondered where he was going with this. “Well I wouldn’t know what ‘everybody says’, but _I’m_ saying it, because it’s true. Did you think I was feeding you a line?”

Broad shoulders lifted in another shrug, which was starting to work her nerves; it was annoyingly casual, far more than he had any right to be. “All’s I’m saying is, it’s trivial, yeah? We met up, had a time, it is what it is. Seems prudish to deny you were having me on.”

“Wha—prudish?” Buffy repeated incredulously. “Prudish about what?”

William pursed his lips, the reaction warring with casual air he’d obviously been trying to put on and Buffy could practically see his annoyance in the tightness of that look and the tension of his shoulders. Well, tough shit. She was kinda getting there too. “Just what I said. If it was an act, it was an unnecessary one.”

She folded her arms tightly across her chest. “So, am I a lying hoe or lying prude? Just so I’m keeping track here.” 

There was a flat look in his eyes, as he regarded her. “Now don’t go gettin’ your knickers in a twist. Didn’t say any of that.”

“So, what _are_ you saying then?” Buffy was sure she was being insulted, and then he continued, and she _knew_ she was.

William rolled his eyes. “You were the one who invited yourself over,” he reminded her. His hands settled at the top of his jeans, thumbs hooked on the belt loops, giving him an obnoxiously smug air that clashed with his mussed, boyish curls. “Real hard to sell the innocent ‘never done this’ bit when you’re, batting those lashes and pouncing on strangers.”

“Oh, sorry. I guess you were on a hookup app for what, the stimulating conversation?” Buffy shot back, barely restrained anger lanced through her words.

William snorted, seemingly unbothered by her fairly truthful callout. “Obviously not. Got no problem admitting I knew what I wanted, right from the start. But it seems I’m not the only tart in this room. Didn’t take much conversation to get you here, did it? Some compliments and a smile and you were all hot for it.”

The knowing smirk lifted his lips and Buffy had to resist the urge to knock him off kilter. With a cutting remark, a stray shoe, a pillow or something.

“You…asshole.” Buffy searched for her shoes, officially over his weird mood swing and in desperate need to put some distance between herself and this painfully obvious lapse in judgment. “You’ve got some damn nerve. That’s a lot of talk for cheap liquor and okay sex, pal. If I’d known, trust me, I would have kept the cab fare. _So_ not worth busting my butt all the way to Brooklyn.”

She was pleased to see him ruffled by that, feeling victorious at his snarl and the fact that she’d managed to find her footwear, stuffing her feet into the black ankle boots and zipping them up.

“Didn’t think it was just ‘okay’ last night,” he said, smugness rolling off him in waves, mixed with an irritation that was palpable and rivaled her own. “Wasn’t me screamin’ my own name.”

That made Buffy laugh—a genuine, gut busting giggle—and she had to suppress it, even if his confusion only made her want to do it more. “Hate to break it to you, _Willy_ from Williamsburg, but if you can’t tell when a girl’s faking, there’s clearly a bigger issue here.”

Blue eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted into an angry frown. “Bollocks. Wanna see the sheets? They’re soaked through.”

That part was true at least, and Buffy was annoyed at the phantom clench it brought on. After a few false starts and the comedy of errors with her leg cramp and his sore tongue, things _had_ heated up. She’d been so turned on last night, wetness pooling between her thighs, caught up in his kisses and his attentiveness but despite best efforts (and what an effort it’d been, she was sure there was a lump forming on her head), release had been elusive.

It could have been nerves or being far too much in her own (maybe bruised) head that it knocked her out of the moment (literally, at one point). William had been attentive and eager, but she’d been unable to just…unclench. But now she was completely fine with letting William believe it was all on _him_.

“And it still wasn’t enough.” Buffy tossed her hair, made slightly difficult considering the blond bird’s nest that had taken over but still effective as she gave him her most withering look. “Maybe you’re not as good as you think.”

William’s gaze turned frosty, the softness from his mouth gone as his lips thinned to a firm frown. “Or maybe you’re just a frigid little bitch.”

Buffy recoiled at the words, the snarl of them doing nothing to quell her temper. “I’d say ‘fuck you’ but I think we’ve already covered how inadequate you are in that department.”

“Yeah?” He shrugged his shoulders and pointed down the hall. “Door’s that way, then.”

She sauntered past with a resounding ‘hmph’, twisting her body to avoid brushing against his. It was petulant and petty, and did nothing to really soothe her anger, but also weirdly satisfying, knowing she wasn’t the only one being left in that state. Her jacket was still hanging by the door and she hastily put it on.

It took a good minute to figure out his door and the right way to work the locks and she was sure he was listening to her struggle with it, but she’d be damned if she asked him for help. The stupid asshole. Stupid hot asshole with the nice apartment and the pretty curls and she should _so_ steal the bottle of Crown too because it was hers and it would also serve him right because she almost got a damn concussion over his dick; the liquor would be a perfect consolation prize.

But the locks were all open and her exit was already delayed so she stepped out, slamming the door with a spectacular level of drama behind her. Buffy trudged down the steps, grumbling with every footfall and tugging on her beanie. There was a definite draft in the old building, and she was glad for the parka, blocking out what sounded like a pretty heavy wind outside. “Great,” she mumbled. Shitty weather for a shitty walk of shame home. Schlepping her ass all the way back to the Village, that was the worst part. She was never listening to Wine Buffy or Inner Faith ever again.

Her phone and wallet were still in her coat pocket and she reached for both, fully intending to text Faith once she’d ordered the Lyft. She pushed at the building’s front door that would lead her out into the cold and frowned when it barely budged. “What the…” She tried it again, several times in fact. Pushing her weight against the bar and aside from a creaking groan, the door hadn’t moved.

There was a window beside it and Buffy peered out, seeing nothing but grey and a vortex of swirling white. What had started out as light flakes had turned into something much, much worse.

She unlocked her phone and scanned the notifications littering the front screen. A severe weather advisory for a massive blizzard hitting New York City, and several emoji-filled texts from her sister, wishing her the best while safely tucked away in sunny California. The messages from her friends, Faith wondering what time she should expect her back, and Willow asking if she was okay were varying shades of helpful and panic-inducing and Buffy tried to think through her options.

There was a blizzard happening outside.

She was stuck inside, with no real hope of getting out.

And even if she did manage to push her way out of the iced-up doors, there was no way in hell she was getting back home, not with transportation cut off, and walking clearly out of the question.

That left only one other option.

Ugh.

_No. Please._

Green eyes drifted upwards. This was punishment. Punishment for dropping out of law school, for the boredom bodega wine, for joining stupid dating apps, for hiking all the way to Brooklyn for a hook-up instead of going to her friend’s engagement party like a good girl. She was already nursing a possible concussion on top of the awkward sex, hadn’t she suffered enough?

Apparently not.

It was torture, dragging herself back up those old stairs and knocking on the door she’d only just exited through in such dramatic and memorable fashion. She could hear him through said door, talking and god, she hated, _hated_ this.

Her knocking grew from timid to a pounding that could totally be perceived as obnoxious and judging from the ‘For fucks sake, hold on!’ that bellowed from behind the door, she was sure her intentions weren’t for naught. It was a perverse satisfaction, his obvious anger, though triumph was sure to be short-lived once William answered and she had to explain the situation.

She heard the clicks of the locks being undone, and wide swing of the door as he opened, phone pressed to his ear and a furious look in those still frosty eyes. “What?”

Buffy gritted her teeth, tamping down on the knee-jerk instinct to respond in rudeness. “The front door to your building is stuck.”

“’M not the super.”

You have nowhere else to go, she silently reminded herself. It was tough to remember, what with his clipped tone and the strong urge she was getting to kick him in the shin. “Fine,” she snarled between gritted teeth. “Can you at least call the super or something? The snow is blocking the door and I can’t get out.”

That brought on a different look, confusion with just a touch of uneasiness and William frowned. “What?” Briefly, he turned his attention to the phone. “No not you. Call you back in a bit, Charlie boy.” He stepped away from the door and Buffy only had to wait a few seconds before he was back, pulling on a black jacket and a pair of boots. “Come on.”

Buffy ignored his brusque tone and followed him down the stairs back to the front entrance. It was cold still, and she shoved her hands into her coat pockets while she watched William peer through the large front window.

“Bloody hell.” He tried the door, pushing at it with a low grunt but like Buffy’s attempts earlier, it barely moved.

“Is there like a back entrance or something?” she asked, talking loudly over the sound of his shoulder bumping against the heavy wood. “Or, like a side door? This can’t be the only exit.”

William’s look was incredulous. “Are you off your bird? D’you see the weather? You’re not gettin’ anywhere in that.”

Well, he was right, but she didn’t have to be happy about it. Mostly, it just made her tired. And she really wanted her bed right now. “God, this is the worst. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

It wasn’t really directed at him, just a momentary panic while she attempted to assess her options. She could call any one of her friends, but it didn’t seem smart to risk them coming out in the middle of this mess if she couldn’t even get out of the building. And then what? Every mode of transportation would’ve been impossible; there was no way the trains were still operating, let alone buses. And walking? Her gaze shifted back to the glass, unable to see anything beyond the white of snow and wind. So not of the good.

“Look…uh…” His halting speech jarred her from those spiraling thoughts and Buffy looked up, noting the awkward hunch of his shoulders. It could’ve been the cold; it was certainly frosty enough in the front entrance. Though some of that chill might have been leftover from their nasty little spat upstairs. William cursed under his breath. “You should come back upstairs. Can’t get through anywhere right now. Least get some food in you. Charge your phone.”

It was surprisingly kind, and she supposed her reaction was all over her face because she barely caught a glimpse of his frown before his handsome features affected a neutral look.

Still, her options were pretty much none. Plus, she really needed to call her friends. So, in a show of humbling herself, Buffy heaved a sigh and gave a short nod. “Okay.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A morning after filled with long silences, some gratuitous onscreen violence, and a game of WAR that gets real honest. It's a super-sized chapter and hopefully it will tide you over while I work on the next installment.

_What's going on inside your head?_   
_You left me unaware._

\-- **Kilo Kish** , 'Taking Responsibility' 

* * *

**Later Saturday Morning**

While he didn’t consider himself an expert in morning after experiences, William had to admit this one was probably in the running for the most disastrous, right next to the time during university when he’d literally been woken up by a fire (the girl’s faulty electric kettle nearly took out her whole flat). It wasn’t saying much that today’s fiasco was second to smoke inhalation.

Had it really only been an hour before that he was still in bed? The day felt long, and it wasn’t even noon. He’d woken up in a pretty great mood and could admit part of it had to do with the blonde beauty in his bed, and their night together. Sure, it hadn’t been perfect; several times he found his mind drifting to his ex, mental pictures of pale limbs and dark curls superseding the beautiful woman writhing under him, knocking him out of the moment.

It was a shitty thing, he knew. Buffy was the complete opposite of Drusilla, and yet it hadn’t stopped his brain from slipping into familiar habits. The touches he offered, the way he knew his ex’s body and needs by heart. But naturally it didn’t work in the current scenario. Tan skin and blond hair and green eyes that widened with a nervousness whenever he’d asked what she wanted. Because he had to know; getting lost in Buffy’s body, soft skin and slight curves, it was surely the distraction he’d needed in his determined efforts to move on.

Then again, his tongue still smarted a bit from the bite and he’d had to dodge flailing limbs when her muscle cramp had sent her skittering off him and rolling onto the bed (Christ, that had been a right sideshow).

But they’d managed to move past the awkward into something pretty enjoyable, or so he thought. Before their little spat revealed the whole thing was pretty much bullshit. Snark was exchanged, and all manner of pleasantries from the previous evening evaporated.

He wasn’t torn up to see her go, even if her storm out had almost been amusing. And if he hadn’t been still fuming from her reveal (not that good, her very biteable arse), he could have appreciated the way she didn't back down, returning with a fire and her own harsh words.

And now she was back in his apartment.

William had considered being as ungentlemanly as possible, telling her to push off and shutting the door in her beautiful face, especially after she’d drenched his warm wake-up with her cold reception to his offer for breakfast and engaging conversation. He thought it was the polite thing, even as she seemed completely intent to dash out without so much as a ‘by your leave’.

If he hadn’t been so damn annoyed by her callousness, he could’ve appreciated the ballsy of it all.

Still, he’d been confused and reacted in kind, lobbing whatever he could to piss her off but hadn’t expected her to reveal she’d been faking the whole time. Which yeah, a real punch to his ego.

He could’ve borne the embarrassment of the situation a bit better if they weren’t currently forced into making nice. Buffy was seated on one of the stools at the kitchen island, a steaming mug of coffee in front of her while she scrolled through her phone. From the tense line of her shoulders, William could tell she was just as put out as he was about their present situation.

They hadn’t spoken to each other in nearly fifteen minutes, their last words a strained exchange about coffee, clipped replies related to cream and sugar. William was focused on the stove, preparing their scrambled eggs and making sure the bacon didn’t burn. It was distracting enough, the sizzle a welcome break from the heavy silence.

It was further disturbed by Buffy’s phone ringing, and she quickly answered. The conversation was brief, her tone bordering on exasperated, but she was obviously fond of the person on the other end, reassuring them (someone named ‘Donnie’?) several times that she was fine. “I’ll text you in a bit,” she’d promised, and William wasn’t stupid, he was sure she didn’t want to talk with him right there in listening distance.

Well tough shit, it was his place. He wasn’t going to scarper off so she could gossip about him with her girlies. Tamping down on the unnecessary irritation, he busied himself with getting their breakfast together. By the time he’d push a plate full of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of her, she’d long gotten off the phone call and switched to texting but paused her movement in favor of gracing him with a grateful look.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He picked up his own plate and coffee mug and gestured towards the couch. “We can sit out here. Bit more comfortable. Might see what’s on the telly about this weather.”

He was already settled on the couch, plate in lap and remote in hand when Buffy decided to join him, curling up on the opposite end and balancing her plate on her bent knee.

The room was filled with silence as they ate and watched the coverage of what the newscasters were calling the ‘Storm of the Century’. William snorted at that. “Swear, those wankers say that about every blizzard.”

Buffy made a noise of agreement around her bite of bacon. “Sure. But this might actually be a record breaker. What is it, almost two feet already? Sounds record-breaky. My roommate’s gonna be pretty insufferable now.”

William glanced over at her, curious about that little tidbit. “Insufferable?”

“She’s from Boston and totally convinced no one knows more about rough winters than New Englanders. I keep telling her I’m from California, I’ll gladly let her have that snow queen title.”

He remembered seeing something about her being from California on her profile but couldn’t recall an exact name of a city. Which, playing it back in his head sounded kind of dickish. He knew the taste of her, but something like ‘where are you from?’ eluded his memory. Then again, it wasn’t exactly a small talk kinda situation. Reasons why he joined Date2Night in the first place. He wasn’t interested in tidbits and judging from the app’s algorithm and Buffy’s own profile proclamation, neither was she.

And now they were stuck together.

Buffy groaned at the recent announcement from the newscaster, citing a quote from city officials that snowplows were currently on standby, unable to move due to the strength of the storm. “Great,” she grumbled, switching out her empty plate for the still blissfully hot cup of coffee on the table.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Well, least I remembered to do the grocery shopping beforehand. Won’t have to starve.”

It wasn’t much, but there was trying. And Buffy offered him a weak smile.

They finished breakfast in a ‘still-awkward but not terribly so’ silence, sipping their coffees while watching the coverage of the unlucky news crew members forced to broadcast from various parts all over the city. After seeing a journalist nearly disappear into a snowdrift, Buffy had to admit she was glad she didn’t go through with the now wildly stupid idea to walk home.

William collected their empty dishes from the table and carried them to the kitchen. Buffy was still curled up on the couch, but when he returned, aiming to sit she pushed up and turned to him.

“Um…do you have like a spare toothbrush I can use? Kinda feeling a little fuzzy mouthed and coffee breath totally doesn’t help.”

“Oh, uh, right.” William gave her a sheepish look. He led the way to a door down the hall, revealing a nice-sized bathroom. “Spare toothbrushes are right here.” He leaned down, searching in the cabinet under the vanity and plucking out a plastic-wrapped toothbrush. “There’s mouthwash and floss too.”

“Thanks,” she replied gratefully, watching as he headed down the hallway, back towards the kitchen before shutting the door.

********

Buffy exhaled slowly, a slight frown marring her features as she stole a glance in the mirror. “Crap.” Her hair was less bedhead-like, but still kind of a mess. She searched her jeans’ pockets, happy when she found an elastic hair band tucked into the left one. “Day’s almost looking up.”

She finger combed her hair as best as she could, getting out the worst of the tangles from the lengthy blonde locks with a little patience (and some light cursing). With it most manageable, she secured her hair in a high bun and quickly brushed her teeth. She’d only just spat out her mouthwash when her back pocket buzzed with an incoming call and she quickly answered her phone.

“Faith?”

“Hey, B. Still trapped?”

“Well I haven’t managed to perfect teleporting since this morning, so yes.” Buffy dropped her bright green toothbrush into the cup on the sink, joining the blue one that was obviously William’s.

“Day’s still young. Plenty of time to work on it. I wanted to check in, see how things are going.”

“Oh, you know, awkward.” It was the truth, though Buffy kept her voice down, not wanting the words to carry in the bathroom’s echo. It was a really nice bathroom. Dark wood vanity and a wide modern sink, with a massive old school claw foot tub. A tall unit made of metal and wood shelves was tucked into a corner, stocked with all sorts of bottles and extra towels and Buffy gave into temptation, poking through William’s products with an approving eye. “He made breakfast. And he’s got really nice conditioner.”

“Wait, are you in the bathroom?”

“Mhm. Just finished brushing my teeth.”

“And now you’re snooping.”

“ _Looking_ , thank you.”

“Uh-huh. Leave it to you to finally have a booty call situation and get the smackdown by Mother Nature.”

Buffy sniffed at a jar of moisturizer, enjoying the pleasant shea butter scent even as she frowned at Faith’s laughter. “Ugh. Don’t make this worse than it is.”

“Damn, was last night that bad?”

“It was…interesting.”

“I don’t know how to respond to that, B.”

“Then you know how I’m feeling.”

“Was he hot, at least?”

“Very. Kind of an asshole, though.”

“An asshole who made you breakfast. Look, sit tight. I’m on call at the station but me and Kendra are both home, and we’ll keep an eye on the weather. Maybe we can come get you.”

“It’s fine, Faith. It’s pretty far and things are kind of bad out there. I can do awkward for a few hours.”

“Alright. But text us, okay? I’ll let everyone know you’re good.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Buffy shoved the phone back into her pocket and regarded her reflection. She could totally do this. Things were still weird, from the sex and their earlier argument. But it was silent now. A strained silence, but at least no more shitty words were exchanged. Buffy tamped down on the irritation that threatened to creep back in, thinking back to the ugly implications of William’s words.

Yes, she _had_ made the first move, but it wasn’t some stupid grand plot. And softening the blow by stating they were both shameless for wanting the casual sex but somehow, she was the only one lying about her reasons was such bullshit. She didn’t feel guilty about her boldness. The one time she does something out of the box…

 _Ugh_.

She washed her face, uncaring about using his pricey cleanser, and following it up with a bit of moisturizer. Much better. Feeling refreshed, she made her way back to the main room. The television was still on, and she could hear William puttering around the kitchen, cleaning up the breakfast prep and dishes. His back was to her, and he gave no indication that he’d been listening in on her phone call.

He seemed surprised to see her when he came back to the couch, hovering for a bit before announcing he was going to freshen up himself. Buffy heard the bathroom door shut and she waited a beat before getting to her feet, figuring since she’d already poked around his bathroom, she might as well do a little more looking.

She headed to the wall with the large shelving unit, perusing the music. There was so much vinyl, stacked and organized near the record player. It was hard to pinpoint his music taste. There seem to be a lot of bands with names ranging from heard of (Radiohead) to who? (The Vibrators) and the occasional unexpected (She was really curious about The Wiz soundtrack stuffed alongside something called The Cramps)

The books were just as plentiful. Battered editions mixing with newer releases, some with pretty vintage binding, and surprisingly a lot of poetry. Buffy’s gaze fell to one book in particular, the spine of it sticking out farther than any other on the shelf’s row, as if it were put back in a hurry. She slid it out from the shelf, noting the bright red cover. It was worn, but still in great shape; it was handled a lot, and she figured it was probably a return read.

‘Love Poems’ was the simple title, and the author, Nikki Giovanni sounded vaguely familiar but outside of the required literature courses in college, Buffy wasn’t well-versed in poet laureates. Still, she was curious, and bored. There was a message written on the inside cover, in neat, slanted print.

_‘To Spike. Another Nikki to keep you fascinated. –N.W.'_

She wrinkled her nose. Who was ‘Spike’?

Flipping through the book, as if it would answer the question, Buffy only found more handwriting. Different than the one on the cover. Scribbles—still neat and a little loopy—tucked into the margins, as if someone were making notes alongside the words. Curiosity got the better of her, and she settled in the comfortable blue chair near the couch, just as she heard footsteps.

Panicking, she glanced around, noting the magazines spread out on the coffee table and she grabbed the nearest one, opening it up and slipping the red book of love poems between the glossy pages just as William appeared.

“Oh, hey!” she greeted, flashing him a bright grin that so did not look guilty.

William’s confusion was almost laughable, arching his scarred brow at her. He was still sporting his shirt from the night before but had changed into a pair of grey sweats, and his glasses were once again perched on his nose, a tablet tucked under his arm. “Hi…” he replied slowly.

If he noticed that she’d changed seats, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he settled on the couch, propped his sock-covered feet on the coffee table and resting the tablet in his lap.

Okay, so they weren’t doing the talking thing…again. At least there was the television, providing background noise for the world’s longest, most awkward-est silence. With a resigned sigh, Buffy opened the magazine. It was some random men’s fare, no doubt filled with ads for smelly cologne and crappy advice columns. Indeed, one of the first articles she’d skimmed had the unfortunate title of ‘Red Flags: Types of girls to avoid on dating apps’ and she couldn’t help her eyeroll. Of course. No wonder he’d been so smug about her making the first move. Probably following some stupid tips he’d read in this edition of _Asshole Monthly_.

“What?”

Buffy started, and a wild panic fluttered within, thinking she’d voiced that last bit out loud. William was giving her a hard, strange look and she realized she’d been full on glaring at him for a good two minutes.

“Nothing,” she mumbled and glanced away, feeling weird and sheepish and hating the stupid tension and long silences. But she had no idea what to make of him; he’d been so charming the night before, and there was a glimpse of that today. The softness in his eyes when they woke up, and his offer of breakfast. And then things had gotten ugly, really quickly.

Which okay might have been on her too. It probably wasn’t the best way to tell him about her little climax conundrum (she voted for ‘never telling’), but he’d pissed her off and she reacted accordingly.

Another small sigh and she was back to pretending to read the terrible magazine. The red book was still tucked between the pages and Buffy curled up in the comfy chair, propping both magazine and book on her knee, enough to block out William and read the slim book of poems.

The volume was small, but Buffy immediately found herself drawn into the simple cadence of Giovanni’s work, a flicker of a smile tugging at her lips as eager eyes pored over the pages. The handwritten scribbles weren’t on every page, but there were stars next to certain poems and small notes written in the margins that let her know these were favorites. She found herself skimming the pages and searching out the stars, picking those poems to read first. They were good. Brief but meaningful. And again, she wondered just exactly who ‘Spike’ was, and whether William had gotten this book secondhand.

Her musings were interrupted by the change in television program, the drone of the news giving way to what sounded like an explosion. Startled, she pushed the little red book inside the magazine and looked up. William had set the tablet aside in favor of the remote and was busy searching through the channels.

“Too quiet,” he explained, still focused on the television until he turned pensive blue eyes in her direction. “We could watch a movie or something.”

“Oh, okay.” The distance between them was comical, and considering he was at least attempting to be a human and actually interact, Buffy figured she’d meet him halfway. The poetry book was still inside the magazine and she left both on the chair and slid back to the couch. “What do you wanna watch?”

“Dunno. Downside to all this streaming, too many options.”

It was true enough, and Buffy found herself nodding along. “Sure.” She curled into her side of the couch, sock-covered feet tucked beneath her, elbow propped on the couch arm and her cheek resting on her palm. “What do you normally watch?”

William shrugged. “Whatever catches my attention, mostly. Been known to get sucked into an _SVU_ marathon. S’always on. Like a good daytime drama but haven’t watched ‘em since they took off the bloody soaps channel.” He turned at the sound of her snorting, brow arching at the giggle she was barely suppressing. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replied, nibbling at her bottom lip. “Didn’t expect the soap opera thing. It’s very ‘ladies who lunch’ of you.”

Blue eyes narrowed, and there was some grumbling that Buffy couldn’t make sense of before he eventually shrugged. “S’like cheap theater. Bad acting, wild plots, easy to follow. Good wind down telly. But what are you watchin’, then? Bet it’s all _Grey’s Anatomy_ and _Real Housewives_.”

“Nothing wrong with those. But I also like _Game of Thrones_.”

William rolled his eyes. “No one actually likes _Game of Thrones_ , we all got trapped and just decided to ride it out.”

In spite of herself, Buffy had to laugh. “C’mon, the early seasons were great.” She was sure he was being contrary just because, but it was almost entertaining. There were clearly some strong opinions going on.

“Fair point.” It was a begrudging agreement, and his gaze returned to the screen. “Could always pick a movie each and go from there. I’ll even let you have first choice.”

“Okay,” Buffy replied with a nod. “No judgment, no whining about each other’s pick.”

“Whining’s totally allowed,” he countered smoothly. “But no vetoing.”

“Agreed.” She accepted the remote from him, pointedly ignoring the way their fingers brushed each other. Not even going there, she thought silently. Instead, she focused on making her choice. Which was difficult, considering the sheer number of places to choose from.

A small part of her wanted to pick the most ridiculous thing, just to torture him; it might actually be worth it even with the grumbling. But it would mean possible retaliation and Buffy was sure that would be in the form of something long and godawful. Eventually though, thoughts of torture by cinema fell to the wayside because she’d found an actual fave that was sure to be a general crowd-pleaser.

“Ooh. Perfect.” Buffy hit play on her choice and tossed the remote into the empty couch space between them. She turned, hearing William’s little noise that she couldn’t decide was positive or negative. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he told her, voice neutral as he crossed his feet at the ankle. “Remembered your profile mentioned action flicks. Not surprised you went with one.”

His surprise might’ve been MIA, but hers was most present, knowing he could’ve recalled anything about her profile. “ _Die Hard_ is a classic.”

“That it is.”

“So, we’ve avoided the whining, then?”

William gave a short laugh at that. “Hardly. Plan to give only the best running commentary. Now shush. Movie’s starting.”

********

An hour into John McClane kicking serious ass, and William was sure he’d probably watched less than half the movie. True to his word, he whinged a bit, nevermind the fact that he actually did enjoy her pick, but since she’d more or less expected his complaints he wouldn’t disappoint.

Still, it was less biting and more observational humor, and despite Buffy’s initial stance of one-word responses or outright ignoring him, he caught her grins, small and fleeting as they were, and eventually she started adding her own commentary.

“You can see where they switched out the stuntman…riiiiight there!” She pointed, eyes never leaving the screen. Sometime between Gruber’s gang taking over and the power getting shut off, she’d closed the gap between them. There was still plenty of space, but they weren’t at entirely opposite ends.

A movie had been a welcome distraction, a nice change from the earlier weirdness. William had no idea what the hell to make of their current situation. He’d only caught a bit of Buffy’s conversation with her friends when she’d been in the bathroom, not wanting to snoop, but curious about what she was telling them about their night.

William could admit he’d acted impulsively, even if he was too stubborn to say so out loud. His pride had taken a hit, and hell, not like he wasn’t used to the feeling. It was, after all, the reason he’d signed up for the stupid site in the first place.

And he could have chalked it all up to a shitty story to drink away in the future, except the reason for his irritation was currently on his couch and explaining why _Die Hard_ was the perfect Christmas movie.

Which prompted a back and forth, with him arguing that just because a movie involved a Christmas scene didn’t make it a legitimate holiday flick. He might’ve been purposely giving her a hard time and he wasn’t entirely sure why being argumentative with the biteable blonde on his couch felt like the right thing to do, but she’d already rolled her eyes at him twice and he was aiming for a third. He’d take snark over the awkward silence.

McClane’s rescue mission was well underway, the tide turning against Gruber who was due for a swandive off the building pretty soon. The conversation hadn’t slowed down, save for the pauses when Buffy felt it necessary to parrot lines (which was frequently, much to William’s amusement).

“You must be fun at the movies,” he told her. His posture had become more relaxed, slouched in his seat, long legs sprawled, and feet still propped on the coffee table. Any more comfortable, and he was liable to fall asleep. Which didn’t sound half-bad. The breakfast had done him some good but with the excitement of the morning plus the slight headache from last night’s liquor, he could do with a recharge. Still, he wasn’t in any rush to part from Buffy’s company. They were getting along.

Even if she did grace him with yet another eye roll.

“I only do this with stuff I love and have seen more than once,” came the explanation, tinged with a bit of a huffy tone and William chuckled.

“S’alright, pet. I’m sure you’ve gotten a few flashlight warnings for yelling at the screen.”

“Okay, soap opera guy. Just wait til your pick. I’m bringing all the insults.”

He could still recall her insults from earlier that morning, and grimaced. “Yeah, I don’t doubt it.” There was an attempt at neutral in his tone, though judging from the look he’d spotted from the corner of his eye, she’d picked up on his less than thrilled response.

It wasn’t enough to completely kill her vibe from the movie, but Buffy wasn’t as animated as before, even with the epic climax. McClane emerged victorious and reunited with his estranged wife, everything wrapped up neatly amidst 80s action sequences and very dated movie soundtrack.

Buffy glanced over at William as the credits rolled; he’d been just as quiet, the silence just the tiniest bit strained after his sharp words (yet again) and she tried not to let it bother her. They didn’t _need_ to talk. But being stuck with someone she’d barely speak to, for however long the epic blizzard raged on, wasn’t exactly an enticing prospect.

With a heaving sigh, she dropped her head to the couch’s arm, letting her eyes drift shut.

“Tired?”

She snuck a peek at him, finding blue eyes watching her curiously, before turning back to the television.

“Not really. Maybe still a little fuzzy from the alcohol. Wine and whiskey, a world of no on the mixing.”

William made a small noise of agreement. “You know what cures the fuzzy?”

“More alcohol?”

He laughed, a soft but deep sound that recalled their previous night. The way his amusement felt against her skin, the rumble of deep laughter lingering between the kisses he teased her with all over. The memory made her squirm, an imperceptible shifting against the couch and Buffy forced her brain to chill.

It was difficult, considering she’d guessed correctly. “A bartender who knows her stuff,” he complimented. “Dunno if hair of the dog actually works or if it’s mind over matter bollocks. Might be worth a try.”

“I could be up for that. Just, no wine or hard stuff.”

William gave that a nod and pushed up from the couch in a surprisingly graceful move. “Got just the thing.” There was soft clinking sounds coming from the kitchen before he returned, balancing two filled pint glasses and a deck of cards in his large hands. He passed a glass to Buffy, who made a face after accepting the pint.

“It’s warm.”

His laughter came with a loud snort and a small grin. “S’not. Room temperature, and in case you haven’t noticed, this room’s chilly. That’s how beer’s supposed to be, not that ice-cold watery stuff you Yanks like.”

Buffy gave in to the urge to eyeroll, but still managed to take a hesitant sip. To her annoyance, it actually was good, a full-bodied ale that wasn’t overpowering and easy enough to sip on that she wouldn’t grimace at the taste. “If it avoids me listening to you rant about the finer choice of hops, I’ll just say you might’ve been right about this one.”

William seemed to accept her slight concede. Instead of the couch, he sat cross legged on the opposite side of the coffee table. His beer went on a coaster and he slid the cards from their box and started to shuffle. “Well come on then,” he said in invitation, not bothering to look up from the fast work of cutting and shuffling the deck. “We’re gonna play a game.”

Buffy’s frown was slight, but she found herself sliding down to join him, grabbing a coaster for her own glass. “You don’t wanna watch your movie pick?”

“Later. We’re gonna play War. Every time we draw, low card tells a truth. Matching cards, we declare War. Loser of that tells a truth and takes a drink. If you can’t think of a truth, we can ask each other questions.” Those blue eyes sparkled mischievously and Buffy had to admit, it was probably better than falling asleep on herself in the midst of yet another awkward silence. Not to mention, she was a little curious about him.

“Okay sure. Deal me in.”

William divided the deck between them, and picked up his own, shielding them from Buffy’s gaze. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

The first hand went to Buffy, who gathered her spoils with a small hum. “Do you want a question, or can you think of something?”

William shrugged. “Ladies’ choice. Ask me something.”

“Fine. What’s your full name?”

“Planning to stalk me online?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I already did that,” she replied, false sweetness dripping from her words. “You have the most boring Instagram account. Nothing but books and beers.”

“Right, ‘cause daily shots of your most flounciest frocks is the quality content we all need,” he replied, mockingly. “An’ it’s William Henry Pratt.”

“Hmm. No wonder. You were totally born to be pretentious.”

“That so, _Buffy_?”

“Buffy Anne Summers, thank you.” She slapped down her next card and tapped it, waiting impatiently for him to make his move.

William snorted. “Right, of course. Totally fits the flouncy skirts.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just put your card down, Sir William.”

“As her Grace so commands.”

********

**Later Saturday Evening**

Two hours later, they were both two beers in and the volume of talking had gotten louder. In some boroughs it would have been considered arguing, but Buffy had soon learned that William was a horrible cheat and an even worse liar. Somehow it made everything funnier. His ridiculous attempts at trying to sneak a peek at her cards had both of them laughing, though the alcohol might’ve played some part in it.

“Aces trump everything! Stop being a sore loser!”

“Bollocks. That deuce is wild, means I can call it whatever I want.”

“I’ll call _you_ whatever I want, and that’s a big freakin’ cheat. Gimme my card.”

“How about we call it a draw, pet? We’ll both take the drink.”

“Okay fine! But next war, if you lose, you’re telling me three truths.”

Oddly enough, they did manage to learn more about each other in the midst of an epic, beer-soaked battle. Buffy told him about her family, her mom and younger sister and how close they were, her voice taking on a proud tone when it came to Dawn. Their bond was easier now that the pair were older, with tumultuous teen years behind them. William had nodded, and on his next go round when Buffy’s seven soundly thumped his three of clubs, he mentioned his own family.

“Mum, Dad, and an older brother. They all live back in London.”

“Really? How often do you get to see them?”

He shrugged and took a sip from his beer for the hell of it and grabbed a handful of the popcorn they’d manage to scrounge together sometime between the second and third war. “Haven’t been back for about three or four years. They’ve come to the States on holiday before. But it’s probably been two since then.”

“Oh wow. I spent this past Christmas with my mom and sister. It’s sucky, not seeing them often, but I can’t imagine going that long.”

There was another shrug, this time accompanied with a placid smile that was difficult to decipher. “S’alright. My parents are academic types. Proper busy with their books and lectures. My brother’s got his own family. Couple nippers to keep his head spinning. It happens.” Reaching over, he tapped her cards, long fingers doing their best at being as unstealth-like as possible, trying to bend the cards to take a peek. “Your turn.”

“Hey!” Buffy smacked his hand away, doing her best not to laugh at the sound of his own shameless chuckle. It’d seemed like a very obvious subject change, and they both knew it. But she wasn’t going to push. Not like she was in the mood to divulge details of her own tense family dynamic, with the father she hardly ever saw. No, it wasn’t the time or place.

“Wow, it’s still snowing.” It was the first time either of them had commented on the weather since the morning time. The flakes were swirling, caught in the wind that Buffy could almost hear if she strained hard enough. She’d noticed the light had long faded with the onslaught of evening and it was surprising to see just how quickly the afternoon had flown by.

William glanced over at the wall of windows and gave a small hum of agreement. “Yeah. News says it’s supposed to keep up til late tonight. Least we’re indoors, right?”

Buffy turned back, glaring when she noticed him boldly peeking at her cards. “You’re the worst. Take a drink and tell me a truth, just for that.”

“What? I don’t know what—alright fine. You do the same.”

“Wait, why? I’m not cheating!”

“You’re being a tattle-tell, that deserves drinking and a true confession.”

“I never agreed to those rules.”

William shrugged and lifted his glass. “My place, my rules. Drink up.”

There was some grumbling as Buffy put her cards face down and sipped from her glass. “Okay…truth…” She licked her lips, tasting the faint traces of ale and washed it down with some popcorn. The beer had warmed her considerably and coupled with her sweater she was feeling flushed. Without a second thought, she tugged off the sweater, leaving on her white tank top. “Mmm, so much better.”

Green eyes caught his intense gaze, the way his look lingered on the curve of her neck, and the flush under her skin notched up, just a little. “What?” she asked, her voice slightly hoarse but it jolted him out of staring, their eyes meeting across the coffee table.

“Hmm?” William shook his head. “Nothing. Truth time.”

There were plenty of things she could have gone with in the moment. An opportunity presenting itself, capitalize off the tension that had settled between them, carrying shades of their previous night’s momentum. She could be straightforward, tell him that she enjoyed the sounds he made, rumbling noises of pleasure pressed in fleeting kisses over flushed flesh that still could feel the weight of him moving on top of her. That maybe he wasn’t as hopeless as she insinuated that morning, that they had considerable spark-age and with less nerves she could’ve completely given herself over.

But god, that felt like too much for a simple card game. Even if she did catch that hungry glimpse in his eyes. As if they could fall back into it, with only the right words from her.

Buffy blew out a steady breath and reached for her glass. The sip wasn’t required for the game, but it was necessary for her parched throat. “I…uh. I dropped out of law school.”

It was a cop out, and she had a feeling they both knew it. But the look he’d given her was one of muted surprise. “Ex-lawyer turned bartender, eh? How’s that happen?”

“Surprisingly, dropping out’s a lot easier to do than getting in,” she replied, opting for breezy with only a hint of bitter. That part she thought she’d long got rid of, but apparently just enough of It lingered, only surfacing with the right kind of alcohol. “I had post college plans. Graduated from UC Sunnydale, moved across the country, and it took a year of law school classes to realize that plan wasn’t really mine. So, I left.”

It was far more complex than that, but Buffy knew the story would require something stronger than beer. And she wasn’t about to drunkenly spill her shame all over William’s extremely comfortable rug.

Still, when she glanced up from the sip she’d taken, it wasn’t pity in his gaze, but rather understanding. And then it was easier for her shoulders to drop, to release the tension she’d been holding in at the thought of him being judgy (obviously with an apartment this nice he had to be doing something involving crunched numbers and boat trips with guys named Bryce or Chase).

“Pretty brave of you. Leaving all that. So bartender, that’s the calling then?”

“The money calls to me. I guess til call waiting kicks in with a ring from destiny…dammit, I don’t know metaphors.” Pretty features twisted into a frown, and she tossed in a grumble. “It pays the bills. Of which I have many. What about you? You look like some Wall Street trust fund kid. With this apartment, and your muscles, and those really nerdy glasses that are also kinda hot. What do you do?”

Buffy was annoyed to see him look so damn cocky about her backhanded compliments. His lips lifted in a smirk that made her want to pelt her cards at him, but he’d definitely peek then, and she was sure she was close to winning this round so she refrained and listened.

“No trust fund. Told you parents are book types. Mum’s a psychologist and Dad’s a professor. Wanted me to follow in their footsteps. Go to university, get a bunch of degrees, write some boring tosh and be published in the Journal of Wankers. Which, okay, I did. Came here for study abroad and liked the freedom. So, I stayed. Went a little wild. A lot, actually. Did the rebellion thing. Now I’m just a simple shopkeep. Run a shop not too far from here. Books and music, mostly.”

“Ooh, what’s rebellion look like for William from Williamsburg?”

He smiled, briefly. “As of late, joining a hook-up site and finding a pretty blonde on the first go.”

The flush returned with a vengeance and she ducked her head, attempting to hide her no doubt pinkened cheeks. “Uh huh,” she replied, attempting an air of casual.

William sighed, blue eyes glinting. “Yeah, that Harmony from Hoboken was a real hellcat.”

“Asshole.” Buffy tossed a stray coaster at his head, glaring as he attempted to dodge it, his laughter loud when he nearly toppled to the side. “You’re so not funny. And kind of a cheat.”

“Yeah well turnabout’s fair play, pet” he told her, his voice light but carried a carefulness as his straightened himself up. “Feels like I had to, after this morning.”

Somehow, it didn’t surprise her, him bringing up the one topic she’d actively been trying to avoid. Buffy busied herself with her cards, shuffling them around but keeping the pack close to her chest, unwilling to give him an unknowing peek. Was this a moment for an apology? It almost felt like one. But Buffy wasn’t exactly sorry for her response to his shitty words. Regretful maybe, considering they were now stuck together, and surely, it’d make things less awkward. Perhaps it was safer not to say anything—

“Did you mean what you said?”

William’s question caught her off guard and Buffy glanced up from her cards, only a little bit startled. So much for pointed ignoring, she thought with a grumble. “What?”

Her confusion was genuine, and so was the miffed look he’d given in return. “About the sex being shit. Did you mean it?”

Buffy frowned. “I didn’t say it was shit.” The morning was still awkward and only a little fuzzy, but she was sure she hadn’t gone that far…kinda.

“So, it wasn’t shit.”

“Can you stop saying ‘shit’? I never used that word.”

“Fine. What word would you use then?”

“Why are you asking?”

William shrugged, as if she’d inquired about the weather or something equally casual and not at all cringe-inducing. He was either completely unfazed or really good at playing it cool. Buffy almost envied the way he was able to fire off the questions while sipping his beer unhurriedly.

“We’re still here together. Figured I’d ask. Not like I always get a chance for a performance review. You had plenty to say before, what’s the problem now?”

“Because—we were playing cards!”

“We can still play. And you can talk.” He made a show of picking up his pack, shuffling the cards and laying down one. The king of hearts beamed up at the both of them and blue eyes studied her, expectant. “Your turn.”

Buffy wanted to protest, but something prickled at her skin, a vague sense of annoyance and perhaps a jolt of competitiveness and she tossed out her own card, grumbling at the betrayal of the lowly six of spades. “Dammit.”

“Believe you’ve got a question to answer, luv” came the smug reply from across the table. “What word would you use?”

Buffy gritted her teeth. The pleasant buzz from the heady beer was fading and she took another drink, something to keep her hands busy and her mind from blurting out the first thing she could think of. “Fine.”

“Go on, then. No need to be shy.”

“That _was_ my word,” she hissed after downing another mouthful of beer. “Fine.” 

A dark, scarred eyebrow arched in surprise; the look quickly replaced by a more neutral glance. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Will you stop saying that! Yes, it was fine.”

“Huh.” William swiped up the pair of cards they’d thrown down and added to the pack. His handsome face still wore a guarded expression, and he tapped the empty space where the cards once were. “Your turn.”

Green eyes narrowed. “That’s it? You badger me about this for the last five minutes and now you want to play?” With a huff, she tossed out her next card, her face relaxing into a placid smile. He wasn’t getting any higher than the ace of clubs, and she waited for him to drop his paltry ten of diamonds before asking her question. “Why are you so obsessed with wanting to know how it was?”

William shot her a flat, questioning look. “S’worth asking. Why go through all the trouble of meeting up for a disappointing shag? Nearly lost a bit of my tongue and you almost got concussed. Not a crime if I wanted to know if you actually enjoyed it.”

The words came out in a mumble, the rest hidden in the beer he’d sipped from his glass and Buffy sighed. “Look, it’s fine—”

“There goes that word again.”

“Well I don’t know what other one to use!”

“Did you come?”

“What?”

It was his turn to huff now, and he slapped down a card, a queen of diamonds and tapped it impatiently. This time he barely waited for her hand, only glimpsing the three of clubs she just managed to place atop the table before sweeping them both soundly into his pack. “Did you come?”

“God…okay! Not exactly.” Buffy slammed down the deck in her hands and reached for her beer, downing the rest of the pint and letting the glass hit the table with a muted thud. “Are you happy?”

“What the hell is ‘not exactly’? Feels like a yes or no thing.”

She rolled her eyes. At the very least she did owe him an explanation. Though, in her experience many guys didn’t actually want to hear the truth when it came to sex. Fuck it, she thought with a grumble. “You really want to know?”

“Wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t,” he replied, with only just a hint of surly. “S’not like we’ve got anything better to do.”

“Yeah well, in my experience, most guys aren’t interested in hearing about their …shortcomings when it comes to sex.”

“Har, har.” William rolled his eyes and scrambled for his glass, drinking the last of his beer. “So, does this sharing go both ways? Might have a few notes, myself.”

Buffy started a bit, fingers hovering over her own cards. It wasn’t exactly fair if he didn’t. And she was a big girl, she could take whatever he dished out. Not like they’d see each other after all this was over. And okay sure, she was also curious. “Fine. I mean, okay. Mutual sharing. But no getting pissed.”

“Might be a bit late for that,” he told her, lips twisting in a wry smile and he tapped his empty glass.

“At _each other_ ,” she stressed. “Although, I’d take another beer too.”

“Maybe after you finish stalling.”

There came another eyeroll. Buffy leaned against the couch. “Okay. I did…get there. But it was lackluster.” She paused, not wanting to see his facial expressions but continued on. “There was just…so much happening. Between the almost concussion and the charley horse, I swear we were one more mishap away from reaching sitcom levels of ‘what the hell’. I dunno, it was hard to stay in the moment. And you were trying, and I was…y’know, _there_. But not there.”

She licked her lips, the babble tumbling out unchecked and her words moved faster. “It’s like that mood when you're bored at home and have time to kill, so you figure ‘why not’. Get in some personal action. You get into it, and maybe you’re not as turned on as you’d like, because it’s more about taking the edge off your boredom than real pleasure. And it’s taking so long for your brain to switch over and line up to what your body’s saying. But you're stubborn and your hand’s cramping and now you’re kinda over it but you just wanna...see it through. Then it finally happens, and the only thing you can feel is glad that you’ve gotten out of the way.”

Buffy sighed. “And that sucks. Because it should totally have that… _feeling_? Like ‘two minutes left on the bomb, there’s one red wire and one blue and you don’t know which to cut. The tension's crazy high, your heart's racing, but you take a shot, make a move and it's impulsive and wild, but the payoff is saving the day and the unbelievable adrenaline rush? Just. Like. That. Euphoric. Fireworks all over. Zinging right down to the toes. Jelly legs. Maybe a small explosion. But… _boom_! You know?”

God, she was an idiot.

A rambling idiot. She was panting slightly, her cheeks on fire and more than a touch embarrassed.

William’s silence was slightly more unsettling, and his look was once again unreadable. She twitched a bit at the sound of his throat clearing and waited only a beat more until he finally spoke.

“So…what, it’s like the fate of the free world and the Nakatomi building rests in your quim?”

Her face flushed even warmer.

“Lotta expectation for a hook-up. Seems like I was points behind before we even started.” There was an amused lilt to his tone, but his face was far more neutral than she expected, and it was so damn strange, and very conflicting.

“Well, I told you I hadn’t done this kind of thing before. I was in a relationship for a really long time and just wanted something—”

“—Different.” He nodded, voice as tight as the bunched line of his shoulders. “Yeah. I get that. Couldn’t get out of your own head, eh pet?”

“A little,” she confessed. “You’re a great kisser. I was being honest about that.”

“Yeah?” Curiosity dripped from the simple question, and it was enough for him to pick up his cards. He placed one down, the ace of spades and waited. “Could tell how much you liked it. Even if you never answered my questions.”

“I just did,’ Buffy insisted. She placed her card down, the king of diamonds and frowned when William swiped both.

“Meant my questions last night,” he replied, smirking. “I asked you what you wanted. How you liked to be touched. What you wanted me to do to you. You froze up.”

“I did not.”

“Ice cold. Like you were scandalized by the very thought of dirty talk. Practically clutched your pearls.” It was stated so obviously, so matter of factly, it was kind of grating, because he was right. As they shifted away from the evening’s earlier awkward, his inquiries had turned into demands, wanting to know what would please her. She could recall the shiver that surged through her with every ‘tell me what you want’ he kissed across her curves and the way her body responded it should’ve been easy to voice her needs but talking always eluded her.

“Well it was a lot for something casual,” she argued. She plopped her next card down, frowning at the four of hearts. “I don’t know how to say those things without it being all…textbook-y. Nothing sexy about sounding like a Ted Talk for my lady parts.”

William’s snort of laughter was surprising, and Buffy was thankful for it, the way it cracked the tension between them.

“Wasn’t expecting a lecture, Buffy. Little guidance doesn’t hurt, though. It’s a proper turn on when someone’s worked up enough to be demanding.”

“I can do demanding,” she replied, flashing him a cheeky grin. “Bossy, even. But I’m a little rusty. And you’re…well you’re not that intimidating. Not really. I mean, you’re hot, sure, but I get the feeling you’ve got a few stories about being stuffed into some really big lockers back in the day.”

William looked completely ruffled by that, all frown and furrowed brow. “Thanks ever so.”

Buffy deftly ignored his grumbling and continued on. “I’m just saying; from the way you kept asking me…I’m guessing I wasn’t the only one who was a little overwhelmed. You’re eager to please. And that energy is sexy. But last night, it came off as…needy. Insecure, even. Like you needed to be distracted.”

His fingers stilled on his beer, and Buffy got the distinct impression she’d insulted him. The promise of not getting pissed with each other lingered between them; he wanted honesty, and she delivered, though thankfully not as brutally as she’d done that morning.

William took a drink from his beer and only then did he meet her gaze. Blue eyes darkened, but he didn’t look particularly angry. It was a knowing glance, as if she’d struck something he hadn’t realized or hadn’t wanted her to pick up on until she voiced it, and Buffy knew she was more than likely right. He wasn’t as difficult to read as she initially thought.

“Might be some truth to that,” he offered, his tone careful and quiet. “You weren’t the only one with a case of nerves. Done the hookup thing before, but it’s been some time for me, as well. Guess I’ve been so used to doing things a certain way. With just one someone. Old habits, doubts, and whiskey. Lethal combination.”

“You think maybe, we built it up a bit too much in our heads? High expectations all around?”

William considered that, pausing to sip his beer before conceding with a short nod. “S’possible.”

He didn’t elaborate, but Buffy understood and didn’t push any further. She waited while he played his next hand, watching as he tossed a four of spades to match the four of clubs she’d already put down.

“Time for war. You ready?”

Buffy nodded. “We need more beer.”

“Hold it right there. No peeking.” He scrambled to his feet and towards the kitchen. With just a clinking of bottles and caps he returned and topped off both their glasses. “There now. Battle ready.”

This time, Buffy’s eyeroll was good-natured and she did a quick card shuffle. “Ready.”

They counted down, placing cards from the start of one until they reached three, flipping over the fourth and final to reveal the winner.

Her eight of spades trumped his two of diamonds and she happily scooped up her bounty. “Drink up,” she sing-songed, stacking her cards before grabbing some popcorn. “You said you had notes for me?”

“Hmm?” He returned the glass to its coaster, tongue darting out to lick the traces of beer from his wet lips. “Wassat?”

“Notes. We said we’d exchanged notes.”

“Oh. Right. Well I don’t believe I’ll top your ‘orgasm go boom’ scenario, but if you really wanna know…”

“Fair is fair.”

“Indeed.” William was silent for a moment before he picked up his cards and shuffled them twice before playing his hand. “I liked kissing you. You’re damn good at it too.” The unexpected high praise was buoyed by her winning the next two hands and she quickly tossed down another card.

“Is that all?”

“Nope.” He shook his head and played his next card, swiping up his winnings. “Like the sounds you make. Little whimpers. Course, I’m not sure what’s real and what’s fake, least now.” Blue eyes leveled a sharp look in her direction, which Buffy pointed ignored in favor of a handful of popcorn. “But the bits in the beginning, small sighs when I kissed your neck. Those were good.”

Once again, the warmth crept into her cheeks. And she chased the popcorn with a mouthful of beer to balance out the flush.

William continued. “You like the lights off.”

“Something wrong with that?” Buffy asked.

“Not really. But maybe I could’ve seen how much you weren’t into things if y’know, I could actually _see_ you.”

That was a fair point, and she grimaced. “I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”

“Yeah, well you’ve seen you. You’re a stunner. No point in having a beautiful bird in my bed if I can’t really see what she’s offering or how badly she wants what I’m doing.”

“Wow, that was almost a compliment.”

William snorted with laughter. “Being truthful, luv. You ask, I answer.”

The next round went to him, and he waited for her to speak. Buffy eyed him, nibbling at her lower lip before speaking. “Did you like it? Last night, I mean.”

“I did,” came William’s rumbled reply. “Least until I found out it was all bollocks. Now…well it’s all a bit confusing, innit?”

Buffy gave a short nod and reached for her beer, feeling a little bit deflated. The camaraderie of the last few hours wilted some, and she couldn’t help but to feel at least partly responsible. “I’m sorry, about this morning.”

William looked annoyed at that, which was again, very confusing. “Don’t be. I was an ass. Can admit to it. Shouldn’t have baited you. It was outta line.”

“Sure. But I could’ve handled it better.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

It was quiet, save for the sounds of the television, the canned laughter of a sitcom playing unwatched and awkwardly in the background. Buffy looked at her empty beer glass and the near empty bowl of popcorn and suddenly felt very tired. It’d been a long, long day.

William cleared his throat. “Up for another round, your Grace?”

Buffy offered him a ghost of a smile. “Actually, I’m kinda tired. Think it’d be okay if I called it a night?”

“Sure. Doesn’t seem like the snow’s stopping any time soon. And it’s pretty late.” He grabbed their empty glasses and the bowl of popcorn, carrying it all to the kitchen while Buffy gathered the scattered cards and shuffled them back into the box. She sat back on the couch, feeling a slight headrush from moving so quickly, and leaned back, shivering slightly against the cool leather. Her eyes were closed, and she listened to the sounds of William moving around the kitchen, opening them only when his sock-covered feet slid across the main room’s hardwood.

“You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Oh,” she started, sitting up straight. “I don’t wanna put you out—”

“You’re not. I’m offering. Spent plenty of nights out here. S’fine, Buffy.”

“Okay. Are you sure?”

“Gonna rethink being so chivalrous tomorrow when my back’s all bunched up but yeah, I’m sure.” He shuffled down the hallway, disappearing momentarily and returning with a soft-looking fleece blanket and a pillow under his arm. “See? Got the essentials all here.”

“Alright.” Buffy watched him prop up his pillow against the couch’s arm and shake out the blanket. While he worked on getting his bed together, she grabbed her phone from the table. Her gaze fell to the magazine on the small chair, the little red poetry book still tucked between its pages. There was only a brief moment of hesitation before she picked up both, folding it as best as she could and tucking it under her arm. “Looks like you’re all set.”

“Looks like.” William straightened up, their eyes meeting briefly before he turned away. “You gonna be alright back there?”

“I’ll be fine.” There was no hesitation in this moment, however, and Buffy didn’t second-guess the decision to close the gap between them, pushing up slightly on her tiptoes to press a brief kiss to his lips. Quick enough to regret not getting a proper taste of him, but enough to feel the slow breath he pushed out, feeling it brush her cheek. “Thank you, William. Good night.”

She could feel his gaze watching her when she left the room, heart thumping as she shuffled down the hallway, letting his bedroom door close behind her with a soft click. The room was dark, and Buffy quickly shed her jeans, slipping between the cool sheets in her tank top and panties. The curtains were parted just enough for her to see that it was still snowing outside and with a quiet sigh she resigned herself to the fact that she might be stuck in William’s apartment for another day.

But his bed was soft and warm, his clean scent lingering in the sheets and as she slipped the magazine under her pillow and shut her eyes, Buffy couldn’t help but think that she wouldn't have minded, having him sleeping there beside her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which a new day brings breakfast, a dig into the past, and a much needed do-over. Or, where this story finally starts to earn its rating. Enjoy, and see you for the next chapter, already in the works.

_You drive me crazy_   
_when your hands start to wander_

\-- **Now, Now** 'Set It Free'

* * *

**Early Sunday Morning**

The incessant beeping jolted her awake, and Buffy reluctantly opened her eyes with a soft groan. Thankfully light on the after-drinking headache. Perhaps there _was_ something to that ‘hair of the dog’ theory.

She reached for her phone, tucked under the pillow where she’d been face down and enjoying a deep, comfortable sleep. It was barely after eight. The alert, one from her weather app updated the status of the storm. It was tapering off, but still advised caution with traveling and general venturing out, citing difficulties in moving around the city. She knew transportation was up and running but more than likely limited.

The urge to bolt from William’s place wasn’t as strong as yesterday morning. Outside, it was cold and snowy and generally a miserable mess. William’s bed was warm. And he was…well, after last night they’d reached a tentative standstill. At least that’s what it felt like. Buffy would even venture to say she enjoyed hanging with him. Playing cards, and somewhat clearing the air about their semi-disastrous hookup.

She rolled over, gaze drifting to the window. The curtains were slightly parted and she slipped from the bed, shivering a bit when bare toes touched the chilly hardwood as she dashed over to the window. The wind wasn’t as vicious, and the snow was still falling but had lessened considerably. Still…best to stick it out. She’d text Faith and the rest of her friends later, let them know she was hanging around for another day…that is, if William was cool with it.

Emergency circumstances had meant she’d basically crashed his whole weekend but if he was hanging on the internet for meaningless hookups on a Friday night, safe to say he didn’t have any big plans in the works. Her mind drifted to one of the truths he revealed the night before, about leaving behind his boring life of academia for rebellion. Trying to imagine what that looked like for a guy who seemed so…straight-laced.

Not in a Riley way. No, Riley Finn was total _Pleasantville_. The ‘aww, shucks’ vibe her hulking ex had given was endearing, but in hindsight, incredibly stifling. Riley loved routine, slipping into a comfortable pattern with no shakeups or surprises. There was a time when she liked that dependability. A guy who’d say he’d be there, and actually follow through. Something she realized later on was her own hang-up with her routinely absent father (and wasn’t that a therapist’s goldmine).

But eventually, as they moved through the college landscape and into a post-grad reality, with the real world looming she realized ‘comfortable’ was quickly becoming ‘complacent’. Applying to law school because it was an idealized career. Applying to law schools in the same city as Riley because he’d gotten his job offer first. Because his path was so clearly laid out while Buffy struggled with finding a place that pleased everyone but herself. She’d hated that feeling, simply going along because it was familiar, and familiar was good.

Even their arguments had no fire; Buffy didn’t think herself to be a wildly emotional person, but Riley’s cool detachment, the way he viewed any reaction as a sign of defeat was absolutely maddening. She wasn’t a robot or equipped with military style training; if she was pissed, she was going to be pissed, and act like it, raised voice and all.

Buffy shoved aside the irritation that had slowly crept up as her mind wandered into the past. She didn’t want to think about Riley; she hadn’t really, in the long gap between their breakup and now. What had happened, the end of all things, it was for the best. She believed it then and believed it still.

Seeing him the other night was the first time she’d been hit in the face with an actual visual of him and the memories flooded back unbidden. Sure, there were leftover feelings. Sometimes they were good. Mostly, they were indifferent. That had to be a sign of maturity.

She’d just sent a group text to her girls when the door creaked and a sandy blond head of rumpled curls popped in.

“You’re awake.”

“I am,” she replied, offering him a small smile. “Morning.”

William pushed the door open and stepped in further. “Mornin’. Sleep well?”

Buffy nodded. “I did, thank you. Extremely comfortable bed.” She held up her phone. “Just checking the weather.”

“Yeah? Whatsit lookin’ like?”

“Snow, more snow, and a side of snow. But transportation might be running soon.”

“Hmm.” He walked to the window, pulling back the curtains and peered outside with a frown. “Still pretty nasty outside. No good for walking. And it doesn’t look like the sidewalk or entrance were cleared. Up for staying another day?” He looked at her then, blue eyes seemingly brighter in the morning light, and without his glasses.

Buffy considered her options, silently weighing the pros and cons of braving the storm and deciding that wasn’t at all smart. Right. Logic. Nothing to do with the kiss she planted on her new blizzard buddy before traipsing off to sleep in his bed. “I’d like to stay. I-if that’s okay with you.”

William nodded. “S’alright, pet. I offered.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

There was a short lull, their eyes lingering on each other in the heady silence until Buffy looked down. “Um...I would like to take a shower, though. I’ve kinda been in these clothes for way too long. Do you have anything I could—”

“Oh right. Shit, sorry. Should’ve offered.” He seemed grateful for something to do aside from ogling her, moving to the dresser opposite the bed and opening up some drawers. He pulled out a pair of shorts with a drawstring that would surely come in handy and a black t-shirt. “Hope you like The Clash,” he told her with a smile, passing the folded clothes to her.

“Are you trying to impress with me with your cool guy band tees?” Buffy asked with a laugh. “Think I just know the one song everyone knows. Maybe some others. Should be enough to avoid poser status.”

“Won’t tell. Secret’s safe with me.” He handed her a clean towel and washcloth. “Know where the bathroom is. Feel free to use whatever you’d like.”

“Thanks, William. Really.” Buffy gathered the clean clothes, making sure to grab the magazine and book from under her pillow and stuffed them between the shirt and shorts.

“S’alright. I’ll uh, leave you to it. Might run a load of wash. Could do your other stuff if you’d like. Just leave it on the bed.”

He ducked out after that, leaving Buffy slightly shell-shocked. It shouldn’t have been too surprising. After last night, she realized it was possible for them to have those moments of getting along. Where the leftover after-sex tension wasn’t as thick, wasn’t so unbearable that his charm could show. Where she could actually unclench and crack jokes. Still. In the light of day, unencumbered by a slight concussion or a hangover headache…it was a different kind of tension. Simmering, and Buffy’s mind wandered to the kiss she’d given him. And the feel of his gaze watching her when she left him alone in the living room.

Lots to process.

She dropped the clean clothes on the bed and shed her makeshift pajamas, gathering up her jeans from the floor and leaving it along with the rest on the bed to be washed. The thought of William handling her underwear made her laugh for some reason and she chuckled lightly as she wrapped the towel around her slender frame. Gathering everything, including the poetry book, she headed to the bathroom.

A hot shower was exactly she needed in the moment, and William had really great shampoo and conditioner. It was kind of amusing; he obviously enjoyed pampering himself with nice smelling lotions and potions and Buffy happily reaped the benefits of his habit.

Scrubbed, cleaned, and moisturized, she dressed in her new clothes. The shorts were a little baggy, but thankfully there was a drawstring to keep it modest. The shirt was big as well, but it would do. She smoothed down the front, squinting at the black and white picture of a guitarist and the ‘London Calling’ that accompanied it. It was familiar, and the tune itself was probably something she’d heard but had never really registered. It was still a bit strange, being in William’s clothes and using his things. But even stranger was how she didn’t really mind. Feeling like a vacation from herself. The same one she’d been on for months since taking up space in Faith’s guest room and the nights she spent working at the bar. Just another identity to slip into.

Buffy shook her head. Time to find something else to occupy her hands before those thoughts turned maudlin. She hadn’t spotted a comb or anything but remembered the mini travel brush she kept in her bag and that would do. Hanging up her towel, she grabbed the still wrapped poetry book and headed out.

“William?”

He didn’t seem to be in the apartment, and she figured he must have gone to see about the laundry. The magazine, she left on the coffee table in favor of searching through her coat, still hanging up near the door. Her brush was tucked in her purse and Buffy gave a silent thanks to her Friday night self for at least remembering that (still no points for completely forgetting the rest of the ‘overnight essentials’, like a change of undies or even her own damn toothbrush—she was clearly rusty on hookup protocols).

She gave her hair a quick seeing to, brushing out the thick damp locks and gathering it all into a single side plait. William still hadn’t returned by the time she’d finished and put her things back with her coat. An idea occurred to her then, about making breakfast. She was hungry and pretty grateful to him for the clothes. Not to mention sleeping in his bed while he made do with the couch. It would be a goodwill gesture. And keep her from further snooping.

Buffy made her way to the kitchen. The setup was easy to figure out and after a bit of cabinet rummaging, she managed to find a box of pancake mix and pans. Wondering if there was any more of the bacon from yesterday, she was glad to see it sitting in the fridge. As she closed the door, something caught her eye, a photo tacked to the front with a random magnet of the Empire State Building. She leaned in further to get a closer look. It was William. Younger looking and…what was his _hair_? A shock of bleached curls in place of the mussed sandy ones she figured was his usual. His was sporting all black and his arm was curled around the shoulders of a handsome guy with a bald head and sly grin.

Setting the bacon on the counter, Buffy plucked the picture from the magnet that was holding it on there, studying the two men. It looked like a bar, probably taken on a night out, judging from the beers they were both clutching in their hands. She turned the picture over, hoping for a caption and laughing when she spotted that name again. “Spike and Gunn—930 Club”.

 _Spike_. There went that name again. Unthinkingly, her eyes slid to the poetry book, still hidden in the magazine on the coffee table. Now it was clicking. The book, it was his (obviously, it was his apartment, after all), but the handwritten scribbles, the stars marking the favorite lines…that was all him too.

It was interesting, glimpsing these sides of William, trying to connect the two. When he mentioned a rebellious phase the prior evening, Buffy couldn’t picture it. He seemed so clean-cut. There was the eyebrow scar and the weird slang but she figured that just came with the territory of being British. Apparently, the mild-mannered bookshop guy was also a hard-partying bleach blond with a fondness for poetry. Or used to be, at least.

The picture went back to its place on the fridge and she dove into the business of making breakfast. By the time the front door opened, Buffy had managed a nice stack of golden, fluffy pancakes and was seeing to the bacon.

“Smells good in here.”

She turned her attention from the stove to an amused looking William and offered him a slight grin.

“Since you’re stuck with me again and did give up your bed, it’s the least I can do.”

It was his turn now to be surprised, and secretly Buffy was glad she managed to catch him off guard.

“That’s nice of you. Gonna take a quick shower if you don’t mind.”

“No that’s fine. Bacon’s got a little longer to go.”

When he returned, donning fresh sweats and pulling a clean black tee over his still-damp hair, the food was finished and Buffy was attempting battle with the coffeemaker.

“Is it me or is this the most complex coffee setup like, ever?” She frowned at the shiny appliance and turned her question to a highly amused William.

“Never you mind that, I’ll take care of the coffee. You played chef after all.”

Thankful to be relieved of trying to work out whatever system William had going for his caffeine fix, Buffy made her plate, adding pancakes and bacon before easing into one of the stools at the counter.

She watched William work, the muscles in his back flexing under the fitted shirt as he pulled down mugs for their morning brew and set the coffee to percolate. Her gaze wandered lower, admiring the shape of his butt. It was small but round and kinda cute, even through the grey sweats. She had totally checked him out that first night, what with the tight jeans but this was also a good look. And she found herself wishing she would have copped a few more feels that night. Stupid nerves.

He had long turned, giving her an eyeful of his crotch and Buffy started a bit, cheeks flushing slightly at the frankly indecent tangent her mind had went on and lifted her eyes to meet William’s, stoutly ignoring the knowing glint in those striking blues. “What was that?”

“Asked if you wanted syrup for your pancakes, luv.” He set the bottle beside her anyway and Buffy mumbled her thanks, pouring a little bit on her short stack. “So, how’d you get so good at cooking?”

“Well it’s not much to making something that comes out of a box and just needs water,” she reasoned, cutting into the stack. “I wouldn’t say I’m ready for an appearance on _Chopped_ or anything but I dabble. My mom worked a lot and unless I wanted to eat my body weight in Cap’n Crunch, I learned how to cook. It was one less thing she had to worry about with me and my sister.” She chewed on her bite and watched William expertly pour their coffees. “How about you? Secret sous chef?”

He chuckled. “Hardly. Lived on my own for a while. Sharpened my skills with trial and error. Good to try new things, even better when it’s not nightly takeout burning through my budget.”

“Seems like you’re handy with coffee. That smells great.” She nodded her head at the machine, which was brewing steadily after his apparent magic.

“Ahh this. Old hat. Worked at a coffee shop during uni. Overpriced espresso machines are a nemesis I know well.”

Buffy smiled. “A former rebel and barista. You’re just a barrel of surprises.” She dipped a piece of bacon in her syrup before eating, chewing thoughtfully before speaking again. “So, which one ended up with you getting the name ‘Spike’?”

Her amusement was bolstered with his sputtering cough and subsequent eyebrow raised, the reaction so comical it brought out her giggle. She let it slip, thankful he managed to pour their coffees without a slapstick spectacle. The surprise was just enough.

“What’s that now?” There was no way to play it off and they both know it. Buffy considered letting it slip about the poetry book but instead went for the obvious answer and simply pointed to the picture behind him, watching as William turned slightly. “Of course.” Since he was at the fridge, he grabbed the creamer and set it and the sugar on the counter.

“Oh, come on,” Buffy reasoned, ignoring the glare he tossed in her direction as he sat down beside her, plate in hand. “It’s a good look.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“How long?”

William shrugged. “Stopped bleachin’ it maybe two or three years ago. Murder on the scalp. Glad I didn’t lose my damn hair. ‘Spect you’d know about the process. One bottle blond to the next.”

Pausing the task of adding cream and sugar to her coffee, Buffy met his smirk with a withering look. “At least mine doesn’t look radioactive.”

“Oho. Thought you said it was a good look.”

“That’s before you insulted my hair,” she replied matter-of-factly, sipping her coffee. “Now it’s ugly.”

William snorted at that. Long fingers reached out, giving her braid a gentle tug. “That’s too bad. Still think yours is lovely though.”

The warmth in her cheeks almost rivaled the steam coming off her coffee and opted instead for a playful eyeroll instead of getting all gooey over his compliment. “Eat your breakfast, bleach boy.”

“Yes ma’am.”

They ate in companionable silence, a stark contrast to yesterday morning’s breakfast weirdness (god, had it _really_ only been yesterday?).

“So, do you still go by Spike, or is it strictly ‘William’ now?”

He shrugged and settled the steaming mug back on the counter. “Pretty comfortable with whatever. Mostly my mates call me Spike. My family calls me Will. William’s usually for strangers and bill collectors. And for beautiful bottle blondes I’ve only just met. Open to making exceptions, though.”

Buffy met his smirk with another eyeroll, following it with a flicker of a smile. “Uh-huh. Guess I’ll have to hear more about this Spike business before I can really commit to the name. You know, likes and dislikes. General aura. ”

He gave a rumbling laugh at that. “Wasn’t a total terror, just liked partying hard and living wild. Late nights, spiking the punch, spot of the rough and tumble. Great times.”

“Sounds like everyone’s college years. Sophomore Buffy liked jungle juice and stealing dinnerware from the dining halls.”

William’s laughter made her smile as well. “Proper rebel stuff, that. Think most of my forks came from the dining hall, as well.”

“Ahh, so you know the thrill.”

“Was also in a band back then. Not so much anymore, but I still play when the urge creeps in.”

Green eyes widened with interest. “You were in a band?”

“I was,” he replied with a nod. “Played drums, mostly. But also, guitar.”

Buffy set aside her empty plate. “Definite Spike behavior. That’s very cool.”

He smiled, obviously pleased at her assessment. “Like hearing you call me that.”

That was surprising, and maybe a hint of flirty happening. Buffy offered him another easy smile. “Yeah? Well, maybe I can vibe with it. Even with the ‘William’ hair.”

“Glad it’s not too painful,” he replied with another laugh. “What about you, your Grace? Any other nicknames?”

She shook her head. “Not really. Just silly ones between friends. Think Buffy’s already short enough that nothing ever officially stuck.”

“It does have give a cheerleader vibe.”

“Well I was a cheerleader, among other things.”

A scarred brow arched with interest. “Oh, really now?” His gaze drifted to her legs, bare under the borrowed shorts and looking soft to the touch. “Bet you looked right tasty in those little skirts.”

That prompted a hearty eyeroll and Buffy hopped off the stool. “You are such a guy. But yeah, I made that uniform look good.”

“I believe it, never been more jealous of my own t-shirt than I am right now.” came the reply, dripping with a charm that seemed easy to come by. Blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he boldly perused her body, and Buffy tossed a napkin at his head that he effectively dodged.

The air between them was charged, but unlike yesterday morning’s meal, not at all uncomfortable. They continued chatting as they cleaned up the breakfast dishes, with Buffy revealing that aside from cheerleading, she had also been a competitive skater, much to William’s great amusement.

“I’d offer to show off my skills, but unless you’ve got a secret ice rink locked behind a door, guess it’ll have to wait.”

“Could always take a field trip outside, see how well you’d fare with the ice-covered roads,” he joked, chuckling when the kitchen towel she tossed bounced off his head. “Fresh outta indoor ice rinks, but I could give you the rest of the tour.”

“Wait, there’s more?” Buffy asked, a little disbelieving. “Just how big is this place?”

“Only one more room left.” He reached for her hand and she was sure she surprised him the tiniest bit when she threaded her slender fingers through his own paler ones, letting him lead her down the hallway. There was only one closed door, and they bypassed the bathroom to get to it, William ushering her inside. “S’more like my office and music room. And a gym, whenever I’m feeling up to it.”

The room was large, almost as big as the bedroom, with the same stretch of windows spanning one wall like the main living area. It was pretty and multi-purposed; a desk and some floating shelves occupying the office space while a drum kit sat in an opposite corner. There was an amp and two large cases propped up beside it, no doubt housing guitars while a sleek black Fender was displayed with hooks on the wall. And on the far side, was a punching bag, secured with a sturdy chain that connected to the ceiling and an exercise bike.

“Wow,” Buffy remarked, torn between impressed and mildly jealous. “Suddenly rethinking my need for my own place. This is nice.”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “It was bare for the longest time since I couldn’t figure out what to do with it.”

“Okay it’s catch-all. A very respectable design concept.” Buffy turned to him. “Is that what you wanted to be? A musician?”

William shrugged. “Wanted to be a lot of things. Least it always feels like that when you’re younger and possibilities are still possible. Loved music though. And books. Never wanted to write the things my family wanted me to, so there was a bit of a clash there.”

Buffy offered him a fleeting smile, his words striking a similar chord within in. “I get that. Not that I’m in any way musically inclined. I mean, my mom would’ve loved a piano prodigy. I wanted to be a lot, too. Not including the coolest thing on skates since Kristi Yamaguchi. Between saving the world as Wonder Woman, of course.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “Naturally, yeah. So, what about now? Know you’re doing the bartending thing. But what’s your passion?”

It was her turn to shrug. Lithe fingers danced across the cymbals on the drum kit, nails clinking against the instrument with tinny taps. “I am currently passion-less. If that’s a thing. I mean, I like stuff, but it never feels like a passion.” She felt his gaze on her, watching as she wandered around the space. Her hand trailed the over the punching bag, fingers curling into a fist and giving the bag a gentle tap. “Fun. I used to kickbox back in college. I was gonna take classes here in the city but haven’t gotten around to signing up. I kind of miss it.”

He noticed the smooth subject change but he didn’t press it any further. “Yeah?” William offered her another one of those grins, full of teasing and a charm that made his eyes sparkle. “Could go a few rounds with the bag if you’re up to it.”

Buffy laughed at that and gestured to her clothes. “Don’t think I’ve got the right gear for a match. These shorts are holdin’ on by a wing and a prayer.”

This time, his stare was just as bold, lingering as he looked his fill, drinking in her form. The shirt and shorts combo was a bit big, but William could still glimpse the outline of her taut form. “Fair point. Could find something else to do. Believe we still have my movie pick to watch.”

It was the smart choice. The safe one. The not at all reckless one in comparison to the option she was currently considering in her head. But something in his eyes tugged at her, made the warmth pool in the pit of her stomach, giving her flashbacks to that first night, when the jitters were good, the whiskey was cool, and his kisses made her tremble in a way she hadn’t in so, so long.

Alright so the act itself wasn’t the best. And the after was kind of (completely) awkward and a little shouty. But that was yesterday. Today, they were still stuck together and perhaps that was a sign, not just bad luck weather.

And so, blindly breezing past all that good common sense, Buffy dusted off her boredom wine boldness, different now in a sober light, and with much more awareness.

“I think we should try again.”

********

“What was that?” William could admit he’d been a little preoccupied. Something about the ease in which Buffy moved about his room while wearing his clothes was so wildly surreal, it was taking a bit to sink in. Granted, he could say that about the whole weekend. Today was a decidedly better day. Nice breakfast, even better conversation.

He’d been caught off guard with her questions about his wild younger days but had taken it in stride. He hadn’t been lying when he said he liked hearing her call him ‘Spike’. It’d been so long since anyone had, outside of his small group of friends. Drusilla had favored ‘William’, sweetening his name with a ‘my’ that made him feel loved and wanted.

In the aftermath, it rang patronizing. As if he were simply a collectible. Prized until his value ran out, and then discarded in the rubbish bin. Through a note, of all the ways.

Fuck, he really didn’t want to think about that situation any further.

Especially now. He could chalk it up to his brain lagging behind what Buffy had just said. So directly, and plainly, and perhaps it was surprising that she finally managed to tell him what she wanted (a day later, but who was keeping score?)

He watched as she licked her lips, following the path of her pink tongue and barely missing the way she squared her shoulders and wide peridot eyes met his own perplexed pair.

“I think we should try again,” she repeated. “Give the other night a do-over.”

“Huh.” His body reacted to the news with far more enthusiasm, with a rousing ‘fuck yeah’ from his nethers and the hands itching to tuck themselves back into those soft, slender curves, but as usual, his brain was busting up the party. Soddin’ logic. “You sure about that?”

Surprisingly, her expression only grew more determined. Granted it was only a bare inch, but far more than he expected, given her initial hesitancy from their first night. Perhaps the honesty game of WAR had done them some good. “Well…yeah. I mean, we’re stuck here, together. And what’s the point of giving each other those reviews last night if we weren’t gonna test them?”

“Test them,” he repeated slowly. “Like research?”

“Exactly!” Her smile was bright and fuck, she seemed really into the idea. And that was doing something for him.

“Guess technically this all doesn’t end til one of us leaves the building,” William mused. “Which means this is still hookup time, according to the guidelines.” Never mind that he’d managed to pull those rules completely out of his ass, but it obviously sounded workable, judging from Buffy’s knowing nod.

“A bonus. Once either of us leaves—hopefully, me—this officially concludes our one and done. We might as well take something useful from the experience. You know, besides an entertaining story to tell at parties.”

The idea of leaving with zero expectations or promises on the table was tempting; their profiles had said as much. Nothing meaningful, just looking for fun. The weather nor their forced co-habitation hadn’t changed his mind on that, and apparently Buffy felt the same. It had to be a good sign, and William couldn’t see the downside to it. He fully ignored the tugging in his gut that carried a hint of nervousness in favor of sticking out his hand for Buffy to shake. “You got yourself a deal, Summers.”

Buffy bit her lip, trying to contain her laughter when she realized he was a lefty and quickly corrected herself to shake with the corresponding hand. “Feels wrong to say, ‘pleasure doing business with you’, but you get my drift.”

He smiled at that. “Ta, pet. So, uh…how are we doing this thing?” They both turned to the bed, stripped of its sheets and looking comically bare. William snorted. “Right. Best get the bed sorted. I’ll just pop down to the laundry room and grab the bedding. Should be all done in the dryer by now.”

“Okay,” she replied. The little break was enough to let her nerves creep in but Buffy shook them off. Literally. Shimmying her shoulders once she was alone and perhaps it was a psychological thing but it actually did help. By the time William had returned, clutching a white basket full of the clean smelling laundry, the nerves were settled and the bold was back, front and center.

The pair worked in a silence that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, making up the bed with the soft grey sheets in record time. Once the black comforter was back on Buffy sat down, smoothing her hand over the still-warm laundry and turned her gaze back to William.

“No pressure, right? We just do whatever comes naturally.”

His agreement came with a ghost of a grin and he sat beside her on the bed. “Can work with that.” There was a slight hesitation, their eyes never straying from each other’s faces and William was a little surprised when it was Buffy who broke the contact. Slender fingers skimmed his arm, trailing upwards, lingering only to trace along the corded muscle of his bicep before settling on his shoulder.

William was still, content to let her hand wander, though he sighed at the feeling of her skin meeting his once more, fingers ghosting the underside of his jaw. Her thumb traced his full bottom lip, and though he was tempted to suck the teasing digit into his mouth, he refrained and was happily rewarded when she replaced questing fingers with her lips, leaning in and kissing him.

It wasn’t like last night. The barely there press that spoke volumes but gave absolutely nothing away. This, now…he could taste her want.

Like pancake syrup.

William indulged, letting his own hands settle on her thighs while Buffy parted his lips with a gentle moan. There was no rush, nothing but the quiet of the apartment and the muted exchanges of sighs and groans as their mouths moved against each other, easy and unhurried.

Fuck, but she was really good at this. The tease of her tongue and the sharp nips of his lip in between the sounds that slipped out unchecked. And William let her tug him closer, grunting when her fingers curled around the back of his neck, deepening the presses that shifted from exploratory to a deeper, heady kind of need.

He wondered if her taste was as intoxicating in other places.

Looking to test the theory, he pulled back, blue eyes drifting downwards and he was unable to resist dropping a nibble to her bottom lip, reddened and plump from his attentions. His head dipped lower, taking his time to reach her collarbone and mouthing the skin at the curve of her neck. The smell of her was rich and familiar, like his bath products and he pressed his rumbling groan below her ear, smiling when felt the shiver in the fingers still clutching his neck.

“Take out your hair,” he whispered, sitting up when her hand fell back to follow his request. He busied himself with mouthing at her exposed earlobe, uncaring that he was fully distracting her from unraveling the braid on the other side. But finally, it was free and he was able to run his fingers through the thick tresses, letting them slip and fall, watching as it hung down her back like a golden curtain. “Beautiful.”

The smile she gave him was bright, and he leaned in to taste it, swallowing the moan she offered him eagerly.

Buffy’s own fingers were insistent, pushing under the hem of his black t-shirt and trailing the hard muscle along the waistband of his sweats. The touch brought out a shiver of his own, and Buffy’s responding hum was tinged with just a hint of smug. “Cheeky,” he rumbled, letting the praise linger against her lips before chasing it with a gentle nip.

He didn’t object when she tugged at his shirt, breaking the kiss long enough to let her pull off the tee, uncaring when it was tossed aside in favor of returning to her keen mouth. Small hands were warm against his own heated skin, questing touch teasing his nipples until he was practically panting against her mouth, barely catching her breathy laugh. 

It was only fair then, that she lose her shirt as well, his hands doing the work well before his brain could suss out the rest of his plan. The cool air pebbled her nipples, and the sensation only heightened when William leaned down, taking one of the dusky buds into his mouth with a throaty groan. Sweet and biteable she was, tonguing at her flesh and savoring the whimpers that slipped out. Much more responsive than the other night, judging from the way her fingers carded through his hair and the hard tug at the sandy locks. He barely lifted his head to shift his attention to her other nipple, lavishing it with licks as blunt teeth worried against it in a way that made her heart flutter faster, quiet moans slipping out between panting breaths.

“Oh… right there.”

Now that, that was good. Hot and genuine, like the slight tremble in her grip and the subtle squirm in her hips whenever he teased her with his teeth. Deft fingers pinched her pebbled nipples when he paused his movements to meet her lips again, smirking at the way she clutched at him.

“Like that, gorgeous?”

“Yuh-huh,” she groaned, raking her fingers through his hair none too gently. But man, he loved that shit. “So good.”

Doing something right, he silently preened and cupped the back of her neck, needing more of those heated presses. Just like before, that first night, it was easy to get lost in the feel of her, the silk of soft lips, wet tongue, and her eager mouth moving with his in a hot glide.

Easy to lose track of time, and unlike before, on that first night, there was a conscious effort on both parts to simply be in the moment. No rush forward. No expectation of how to make the perfect escape afterwards. The snow saw to that. Want grew steadily, tentative at first, building to a smooth burn that made him clutch at her a little tighter, savoring the give and take.

He could feel her hands moving lower, and while the thought of her stroking him made his brain short-circuit just a bit, there was something else he wanted more in the moment.

“Wanna see something,” William told her, finally breaking their kiss when the burn in his chest grew too great to ignore. The gleam in her green eyes tempted him to go in for another drugging kiss, but amazingly, he resisted. Instead, his hands dropped to her borrowed shorts, attempting to work loose the knot. “Keep thinking about that story. The one with you, bringing yourself off.”

The knot undone, his hand reached for hers, lifting their threaded fingers to his lips and he dropped a kiss to her knuckle before continuing. “We’re here to research, right? No better expert on Buffy than the lady herself. Show me how to please you.”

********

It was tough to get a coherent thought in, not when her brain and body were still buzzing from his hands and mouth. Buffy’s lips still tingled from their kisses and there was a considerable tingle, a bit farther south, especially hearing him speak. She was running on borrowed boldness and a need that sent a rush of heat all over, like pinpricks against her flushed skin. She liked his attention, completely turned on by the request and her own want. It wasn’t hard to oblige.

Buffy managed to slip away, crawling to the head of the bed where she could rest comfortably against the pillows. She kicked off her shorts then, her eyes never leaving his face, watching the way his gaze darkened at the sight of her. Riley had liked it with the lights off, and she’d gotten so used to low lighting and the routine of hands that knew her body by heart. It was decidedly different now. In the daylight, on a bed with blankets still warm from the dryer and stormy blue eyes watching her every move.

Buffy licked her lips and with a deep breath, planted one foot on the bed. Her hand lingered on her bent knee, only for a moment before letting it fall slowly, dipping between her legs to stroke her inner thigh.

Her free hand cupped her breast, slim fingers tugging at the nipple, trying to recreate the sensation of William’s teeth and persistent attention but it wasn’t the same. God, but the look in his eyes—hot and hungry—his focus shifting between her legs to her chest, it was enough to make her clench and she moaned.

“William.” Her hand rested against her mound, giving her pussy a light squeeze in the way that always made her hips jerk. They did just that, the move eliciting a groan from the still seated William and she called to him again, smiling slightly when he snapped to attention. “Come up here and kiss me.”

She could be bold. Tell him what she wanted while giving him what he’d asked of her. And she watched him, the shift of his muscles and the power in his arms as he crawled up to where she was, moving with a sleek grace to lie at her side and grasp her face in his large palm. And when she felt his lips part hers, and his tongue dip into her mouth, licking out her taste with a rough groan, Buffy sank two fingers into her wet heat, her cry getting lost in between their lips.

“Fuck, that’s it. Feels good yeah?” William parted from her mouth, his eyes unable to look away as Buffy’s hips began to move in a subtle rock against her hand, the heel of her palm grinding against her clit just how she liked it.

“Yeah…” Buffy nipped at his bottom lip, savoring his sharp hiss of pain and soothing the hurt with a gentle swipe of her tongue. He was distracting the hell out of her. “Touch me here.” She replaced her hand on her breast with his own, letting him take over the tease there while she worked her hips, back arching at an especially hard pinch from a very helpful William.

“Don’t you look a sight,” he whispered, voice heavy with excitement and he pressed his praise to her cheek in a light kiss. Her shiver didn’t go unnoticed, only growing more pronounced when he dipped lower to catch her earlobe between his teeth. “Can hear how wet you are. Can see it, too. So slick and pretty. No faking this time. How hot you are for it. Watching you get all worked up…” He trailed off, halting his words in favor of taking her lips in a slow, smacking kiss.

Buffy cried out, pussy fluttering around her still moving fingers and she sped up her strokes, feeling the pressure building in her belly. William’s hand alternated between pinching her nipples and trailing up and down, blunt nails grazing a path from her parted thighs, over her flat stomach and back up, cupping her neck while his thumb trailed her jawline and he nipped at her panting mouth. She could feel him, hard length through his sweatpants, grinding against her hip and it only made her want him more.

It was her body’s instinct to speed up, chase down the warmth that crept up her spine, signaling her climax. She planted her other foot on the bed, needing the leverage as she continued to thrust against her fingers.

“Spread your legs, baby” came the rumbling whisper in her ear. Buffy obliged with a whimper, fighting against her body’s natural reaction to press her knees tighter together. She shivered when he gripped her thigh, pushing her knee upward to her chest, keeping her legs splayed and open to his greedy gaze. “That’s it. Hmm? Right there?”

“Yeah…yeah…” Her eyes fluttered shut, words falling away to soft moans, muffled by the persistent press of William’s mouth to hers. Lost to everything but the buildup, Buffy tumbled headlong into her release, sharp and shivery, chasing down the sensation with urgent thrusts. She felt William’s hold tighten on her leg, could hear his own labored breathing over her gasps.

Her hips stilled and so did her hand, but the aftershock remained, warm jolts of pleasure leaving her clenching around soaked fingers. Buffy turned, meeting William’s lips in a barely there brush that he quickly deepened, thrusting his tongue into her mouth just as his grip slipped from her still-trembling thigh and moved lower, covering her hand. “So good, Buffy” he groaned, and she met the praise with a muted moan. “Christ, you’re so hot.”

Damn, he was good at that. Her body buzzed from the release and the feel of the kisses trailing over warm cheeks as she fought to calm her thumping heart. Her fingers slipped from her heat, and found themselves clutched with William’s, resting on her stomach while they kissed, hungry and heated.

“Better than the bomb?” He asked once they parted, a teasing smirk tugging at kiss-swollen lips and the whole affect should’ve been illegal, shameless as it was. But Buffy was too blissed out to care.

Her free hand, still trembling slightly, opened and closed as she made a noise of explosion. “Big boom,” she replied, huffing out a laugh that grew louder when William joined in, dipping his head to rest on her brow. “Was not expecting that at all.” The shiver started again as his fingers moved, untwining from hers to trail upwards to give her nipple a tweak that she felt down to her toes and the whine slipped out, soft and needy. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Never said I would,” came the reply, smug and matter of fact, though that was short-lived when Buffy’s own hand recklessly dipped into his sweats. “Bloody—”

“Mmm, just what I thought.” There was just a tinge of (ahem) cocky in her words as small fingers, still damp from their earlier play curled around the length of him, hot and hard and eager for more of her bold touch. The grip wasn’t as firm as he liked, but Christ, it still felt fucking good. She pushed up, palming him in a slow upwards stroke and flicking her wrist in a little twist action that had him gasping, a sharp strangled sound of surprise.

William pushed into that motion, meeting her strokes with sharp thrusts, letting her control and tease him as she liked while he kissed and bit at her mouth. It was a little uncoordinated, but neither seemed to mind, worked up beyond the points of caring. He tugged her closer, cupping her face and deepening their kisses, groaning when she tossed a golden thigh over his, grinding against his leg, her hand still working him over, fingers flexing in a tight grip and when her thumb swiped the head of him, William hissed out a string of curses against her lips, losing the rhythm as he spilled into her palm.

His hand was shaking slightly at the nape of her neck, caught off guard by the sudden release but he supposed that was part of being so worked up. And Buffy. Warm and slightly sweaty, her hips still pushing into his, still stroking him down from the release in a way that was not at all helping to calm the shiver that crawled down his spine but fuck, it all felt good. Especially with her lips hovering at his mouth, sharing those sweet keening sounds of her pleasure when suddenly she tensed and shook a little, and he realized she’d come again, riding his thigh and grinding her pussy against his sweats.

The laughter tumbled out freely, rumbling in his chest amidst his steadied breathing and once more William sought her lips, dropping a tired kiss to her reddened mouth. “No faking that one either.”

“Mmm, nope” The amusement was contagious and Buffy returned with a giggle of her own, lazy and content. “All real. You got the job done, pal.”

“Seems like that was all you. Most I did was hang on for the ride.” William grunted at the loss of her hand, feeling overstimulated and a bit wrung out. He would have to change before the rapidly cooling mess in his pants became a really sticky problem but the thought of moving, leaving the sated warmth of their tangled limbs did not appeal at all.

Buffy smiled. “I was researching.”

“Not complaining at all.” Their lips met again, slower this time, the pair too worn out to do much more than give the occasional nibble and it was only when Buffy full on yawned into his mouth that he pulled away, laughing once more. “Nap now, further research later?”

“You got yourself a deal.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, the holiday season is upon us and leaving my writing schedule a bit frazzled. I'm attempting to wrap up all my WIPs before the new year (and maybe working on a holiday thing), so busy, busy. Anyway, this chapter was getting long (I am an eternal rambler), so for story sake, I've split it into two. The second half will hopefully be finished and up in a week or so. Happy Reading!

_Secrets I have held in my heart_   
_Are harder to hide than I thought_

\-- **Arctic Monkeys** , 'I Wanna Be Yours'

* * *

**Later Sunday Morning**

“You talk in your sleep.”

The outrageously false statement was buoyed by a rumbling laugh, unfairly sexy in its execution and Buffy returned both with a sharp pinch to the closest bit of him she could find, a soft spot right below his hip that produced a yelp.

“Hey! S’not a bad thing.”

She’d yet to open her eyes but managed a triumphant smile. “Doesn’t matter. You woke me up.”

“Hard for me to sleep when someone’s goin’ on about soddin’ cheese.”

Green eyes parted slowly, sleep-filled and confused, to meet an amused pair of blues. “Cheese?”

William shrugged. “Dunno. Your dreams, pet. Just what I heard.”

“Mmm.” Buffy gave a small stretch, glad to work out the muscles that had cramped a bit during their nap. Somehow, in the midst of their snooze time, she’d managed to burrow under the warmth of the blanket. She was still naked, the top of the covers sliding down to her hips, baring her breasts to the slight chill of the room and William’s easily distracted gaze. “Think it means I’m hungry.”

“Know the feeling,” he replied, voice a bit gravelly and tinged with something that made Buffy glance up. She had just enough time for a small squeak to slip out before he was on her, hand cupping her cheek and pulling her close enough for their mouths to meet, greeting the soft give of her lips with a heady groan.

Buffy raked her fingers through his tousled curls, giving them a firm tug and smiling at the strangled moan that sounded a lot like approval. Judging from the way she suddenly found herself on her back and a warm body nestled between her thighs, approval was pretty much confirmed.

She shuddered, savoring the weight of William against her, the heat of his muscled chest pressed to her breasts, skin on skin. He still wore his sweats, hips rocking gently between her splayed legs, not enough to do much but tease but it felt damn good all the same. Her thighs hitched around his waist just as he licked into her mouth with a sinful curl of his tongue and it was Buffy’s turn to moan, letting it slip between their lips with a shiver.

Yup. They were still really good at kissing.

Her body’s signals were all over the road, and while her brain was chanting something incredibly scandalous, her stomach had other plans. The resounding growl was loud enough to douse the moment, with William pulling away. Slightly dazed, with kiss-swollen lips that twitched into a smile as he regarded her. “Still thinking about cheese? Even after all that?”

“You made it sound so good, I dunno.”

His laughter only made her smile. God, when the hell was the last time she’d really laughed in bed? And how wild was it, that it involved this particular guy? It’d barely been forty-eight hours since she’d been willing to risk hypothermia and a possible tumble into a snowdrift to get far away from him and their shitty night together.

With his cocky, obnoxious comments that might have been true but he was still annoying and therefore wrong. And now…it was hard to wrap her head around the current state of things, sprawled beneath him in his very comfortable bed, lips still tingling from his relentless kiss. A far cry from how their encounter started.

The difference a few good orgasms makes. 

“Think I could help with that cheese hankering,” he offered.

“Oh really? I could be grateful for that.”

“Yeah? And uh, how are you showing that gratitude, your Grace?” There went his brow, dark and scarred, arching slightly as he teased her with his baldly obvious suggestion.

“Well, you still have a movie pick. I guess I can agree not to boo so loudly about it. So long as you’re not making me watch anything weird and English.”

William laughed again. Buffy could still feel the press of his erection through his sweats and he gave a quick thrust into her bare heat before slipping from her embrace to gracefully roll to his feet. “Think I’ve got pretty good taste.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she replied cheekily. “Go make me a cheese, please.”

She made a cute picture, hair fanning about her shoulders, pert nipples peeking through the long blond waves and William had to resist the urge to climb back in bed beside her and continue their promised further research. But hunger called and changing his still sticky pants (at this rate, he’d be doing another damn load of wash), so he opted for responsible. “One cheese coming right up. Guessing grilled works for you.”

“Mmm. Snack of champions. Yes, and thanks.”

On his way out, he snagged a pair of clean black sweats from the dresser and headed to the kitchen, leaving Buffy to dress.

She slipped back into her shirt and the shorts, making sure to tie the drawstring again. There was a brief internal debate on whether or not to make the bed, but a part of her found it foolish; no doubt they’d eventually be back in it, doing more of that messing up that had her knees all jelly-like.

Surreal, that. Once again finding herself in the position of knowing sex was an inevitable part of their encounter. This time, not as daunting of a thought. There was that thread of excitement, different than the first night. Not as wrought with nerves. And thank god, not nearly as uncomfortable. Logic told her it was because they’d gotten to know each other a little better. William didn’t seem as intimidating when he was flesh and blood and not just words and a picture in some generic profile. Not like in person, where he could be annoying and charming and hot and kinda awkward. Talking about books or music and cheating horribly at cards. He was real. Like someone she wanted to know better, beyond the confines of their makeshift blizzard bunker.

And Buffy shook her head from those thoughts because _where_ did that come from? It was probably the hunger. Or leftover orgasm euphoria. Yep, definitely.

The bed was left with its rumpled blankets and Buffy went in search of her phone, finding it on the coffee table. Checking in with everyone would certainly help get her mind away from potential rambles about scenarios that had a snowstorm’s chance in hell of happening. There was a text from her sister, and Buffy answered that first, knowing Dawn’s next step would probably be a call and the thought of having to explain her current situation to the wildly curious youngest Summers did not appeal at all. Instead she kept it generic, assuring that she was fine and somewhere warm, and to pass along the update to their mother.

Next came her friends, and the many responses that followed her earlier check in text in the group chat. Anya was no doubt still pouting about her lack of show at the party but Buffy begrudgingly reassured her that she’d be there with bells on at the next one. Knowing Anya, she’d probably want literal bells, but it was a risk she was willing to take to get back into good graces. Everyone else seemed to be faring well, despite being stuck inside their respective apartments. Part of Buffy was almost relieved she wouldn’t have to be the third wheel. More than likely, Faith and Kendra were taking advantage of having the place to themselves, and Buffy couldn’t begrudge them of that. She was feeling pretty relaxed herself, thanks to her own blizzard situation and two well deserved orgasms (which should at least be a minimum requirement for all inclement weather situations, really).

Finished with her friend duties, Buffy returned her phone to its prior resting place. Her gaze drifted to the kitchen and the sounds of William’s singing rising over the sizzle in the pan. She couldn’t exactly make out the song, catching some snippets here and there but, he didn’t sound half bad. The remote was teetering on the arm of the couch, and Buffy managed to snag it and turn on the television. Barely into a round of channel surfing, William popped back in, carrying two plates and passing one over.

“There. The best damn cheese you’ll ever have.” There was a bit of a flourishing handwave to accompany the rather bold declaration and Buffy cracked a smile. It did look good. All buttery with a nice amount of crispness, a dark and golden color that edged into slightly burnt. Just how she liked it, and wasn’t that interesting?

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to mess with him a little. Especially since he paired their snack with mom-approved sides of baby carrots and celery sticks. Buffy plucked a choice piece of celery from her plate and crunched into the greenery with a satisfied hum.

“You say that, and then whoops! Unexpected pimento cheese snuck in the middle.”

“Pimen—no! Who the hell would do that to a sandwich?” The disgust was heavy in the question as he flopped down beside her. He reached for the remote and Buffy left the business of setting up their movie to him while she dug into the much-needed food re-fuel.

“My ex was a total pimento cheese guy,” she explained, mid-chew. “With ham, on lightly toasted white bread.”

“Was your ex also seventy years old?” William scoffed, nose wrinkling as he bit into his grilled cheese. “No one eats like that unless they’re ready for the grave.”

Buffy gave a snort at that, hiding her laughter in a bite of her sandwich. God, was that gouda _and_ extra sharp cheddar? It was delicious. And kinda fancy. “He wasn’t old. Just…old fashioned? He was raised on a farm. Very traditional. With cheeses. And gender roles.” That last part was mumbled in a mouthful of carrots.

“Where, Amish country?”

She shook her head. “Iowa, actually.”

William snorted, loudly. “Same thing. Cows and people wearing funny hats and eating crap food.”

“Okay, judgy guy. You come from a place with things like blood pudding, and beans on toast.”

So, what happened between you and this strapping slice of Amish Wonderbread, then?”

Buffy eyed him, noting how he ignored the beans dig (seriously what the hell was that about) and went right for the casual inquiry that was absolutely an attempt at digging for information about her (former) relationship. “You really wanna have the exes talk? Right now? ‘Cause it can be mutual share time.”

“Not at all,” he conceded with a small grin. “More interested in following through with my movie choice. And to hear your compliments about my culinary skills.”

He nodded at her plate, with the veggies cleared through and most of her sandwich gone as well.

“Not bad. Points for the cheese variety. And not burning the bread. Can’t say it’s the best damn one, but a good effort.” She turned to the television, pointedly ignoring the grumbling coming from his end in favor of the screen. “Anyway, what are we watching? Feels like you’ve officially kept the mystery long enough.”

“Funny you should mention mystery. ‘Cause that’s exactly what it is.” Whatever complaints he’d been gearing up for after the grilled cheese diss was forgotten in favor of moving their watch along. And Buffy found herself squinting at the unfamiliar movie title as William hit ‘play’.

“ _Clue_? Like the board game?”

“The very one” William replied. “Based off the game. Never heard it?”

“What, the game? Of course. Didn’t realize they made a movie too.”

“Oh, it’s a proper classic. Lots of laughs and the cast is excellent. Some of Tim Curry’s best work, I think.”

“Tim Curry…oh the Muppets guy!”

That earned a questioning look. “Tim Curry was a Muppet?”

Buffy returned said look with one of her own, with bonus brow raising. “Of course not. He was Long John Silver in _Muppet Treasure Island_.”

She’d said it so matter of factly, he could practically hear the ‘duh’ that she’d humbly left off, lest he’d feel more like the uneducated Muppet movie idiot she clearly thought him to be. And he wasn’t sure whether or not to be amused or charmed by it all, because it was kinda cute.

“You remember Long John Silver, but not Frank-n-Furter?”

“Who?”

There was an eyeroll this time, the smile tugging at her lips betraying the innocence for the smart ass reply it really was. “You’re having me on. Everybody knows _Rocky Horror_.”

“Sure, but it was totally worth it to watch you get all pouty and pretentious for like, half a second.” She polished off the remains of her sandwich and poked his side. “C’mon. I wanna see what this board game movie’s about.”

It was silly as hell, and Buffy found herself easily drawn into the madcap storyline with so many actors she recognized. “God, Madelaine Kahn is fabulous. Loved her in _Blazing Saddles_.”

“Another classic,” William agreed with a nod. They hadn’t talked much, mostly pointing out the cast or laughing at yet another ridiculous plot twist. By the time they’d reach the infamous alternate endings, Buffy was straight up giggling, her attention riveted to the breakneck comedic pacing and William parroting Tim Curry’s convoluted unraveling of the series of murders.

“You’re a quoter too!” She told him once the credits had begun to roll. “I caught that part with the bullets, you didn’t miss a beat.”

“It’s a favorite of mine. Great bit of comedy, that.”

Buffy gave a small hum of agreement. “I didn’t know what to expect, but I liked it. Good pick.”

“Yeah?” William glanced over, pleased at her official movie assessment. “Does this mean ol’ Tim’s getting an upgrade? From Muppet pirate to criminal mastermind?”

“I dunno, he does wear a really cool pirate hat in the Muppet movie…”

She smiled at his snort of laughter, watching him when he slipped from the couch and gathered their empty plates from the coffee table.

“Think you like being difficult, pet.”

“No fun in agreeing all the time,” Buffy replied. “Even though I just agreed right then.”

“Didn’t realize I’d left this out.” William had only stacked their dishes when he spotted the little red poetry book, sticking partway out between magazines.

“Uh…hmm.” Buffy watched him pluck it from the pages, a flush of warmth flooding her cheeks. It was so silly; she could have easily admitted she’d been the one to take it from the shelf on her poking around quest, but it would mean admitting to him that she had, in fact, been nosing into his things. Instead, she opted for straight up denial. “What is it?”

“Oh, just some poetry.” Balancing the small stack of plates in one hand, he flashed the book’s cover to Buffy. “Nikki Giovanni. Brilliant writing.”

“I think I’ve heard of her,” she told him, going for casual and interested, glad to see him grin at that.

“Really? Didn’t know her work til my first semester in the States. A friend in my literature class recommended it. She was also called Nikki. Encouraged me to look beyond the poets—she said—‘of the dead and white guy’ variety.”

Buffy laughed. “Sounds like she has great taste.”

“Yeah, Nikki’s great” he agreed with a nod. “Good writer. And one hell of a right cross, too.”

“Okay that feels like a story.”

He grinned, keeping the book in his clutches while he sauntered over to the kitchen area, putting their dishes in the sink. “Nothing too wild. We were at a party. Probably should have ducked when she told me to, but in my defense, we were only dancing. And pretty sloshed. She got a little flail happy. Nearly put my porch lights out.”

“Ouch.” Buffy winced.

“Nah, it was fine. Got to sport a black eye for a few days and got a new mate out of it.

“A very silver lining. Are you two still friends?”

“Keep in touch, yeah. She teaches at Northwestern. Proper grown up. Husband, kid, all that fun stuff.” He shrugged. “Still sends me book recs.”

“Guess that comes in handy, running a bookshop and all.”

Buffy was fascinated by his stories, the small glimpses of who he was giving him far more character than she’d expected. Though, considering their encounter was supposed to be limited to one night, stretching it out the way they agreed to essentially threw one-off expectations and perceptions out of the window, to surprising results. And she had to admit, she missed this kind of connecting. Meeting someone beyond her friend group. Or someone who wasn’t essentially paying her to be polite, like her job at the bar.

Someone who wasn’t an ex-specter in her day-to-day thoughts, a reminder of her failings, like Riley. Or, as much as she loved them, her family. Her mom with her concerns about Buffy’s future plans (the right career, the right partner, the right choices she apparently needed to make _right now_ ). Or her sister, younger and headstrong but so damn secure in her path and goals, Buffy couldn’t help but be the teensiest bit resentful.

None of that mattered with William. It was a temporary escape. He was new, he was fun, and they were having fun. No strings, no promises, a no problem kinda Buffy. There were definite benefits to this blizzard. Benefits she had only managed to experience a little but was absolutely eager to explore more.

William placed the book back on the shelf before returning to the couch, this time sitting closer to Buffy than he had during their movie watch. It made her smile, lips lifting easily and she turned to him.

“I think remember Nikki Giovanni’s stuff. Like the omelet poem.”

“’ _I wrote a good omelet and ate a hot poem, after loving you’_ ” William responded. Buffy liked the way the words slipped from his mouth in that rumbling cadence. “Might be a favorite of mine.”

She knew that, of course, recalling the tiny, hand-drawn star next to the title. It was the reason it’d stuck out in her memory, finding that like his movie recommendations, his poem preferences were pretty nice as well.

“That’s the one. I don’t know much about poetry, but I liked the idea of being so into someone it makes you all jumbly and scatterbrained. It’s fun. And it sounds like you’re really into poetry.”

His nod was casual, bordering on careless and seemed—at least to Buffy—a little put on. As if he were downplaying his interests. Which seemed incredibly silly; she could look over at the shelves in the living room and pick up on those interests without much effort. The books, the music. And she was sure the Giovanni book wasn’t the only one sporting notes in the margins.

“You could say that. Read enough of it at the shop. And in my spare time.” It certainly sounded more than just a passing fancy in prose, and Buffy gave him a plain look and waited for him to continue. Which he did, much to her amusement. “Maybe I used to write some as well.”

“Another interesting piece to the Spike puzzle.” She tried to picture him, shocking white hair, penning poetry in a dusty library and—for some odd reason—wearing a really nice, cozy sweater. Buffy smiled at the visual, a light laugh slipping out. “Do you still write?”

“Hell no,” he replied, attempting gruff but ending up somewhere near ‘lightly pouty’. “Was absolutely terrible at it. Thankfully, I stopped before I could do something really poncy and ridiculous, like spoken word at open mic night.”

The surly expression shifted into a grin at the sound of Buffy’s laughter. It wasn’t a mocking one, and for that he was grateful. Much as he’d desired to be the next great laureate, his natural gift of seeing beauty and depth in lines didn’t transfer so well when it came to writing. Too overwrought, and a little awkward. He knew what he wanted to say but it never seemed to sound right.

“I’m sure it wasn’t all that bad.”

“It was bad enough,” he insisted, preferring not to think of the ways in which his stuff had been ripped to shreds by his peers back in the day. “Used to catch a lot of hell. But s’fine. Puts my focus where it needs to be, selling other people’s writing at the shop.”

She appreciated that perspective, giving a short nod. “That’s a good way of looking at it. How did you end up working at a bookshop?”

“Went looking for a place that sold music, got recommended this particular spot. The owner was this really cool bloke. Used to party with Fleetwood Mac back in the day. Or so he says.” William shrugged. “He needed help, I needed a job. Been there ever since. Going on six years now.” 

“You don’t miss it, writing your own stuff?”

“I still put pen to paper when I’ve got a jumble of thoughts knockin’ about,” he replied. “But now there’s no real pressure to make it mean something for someone else y’know? Just for my eyes.” He draped an arm across the back of the sofa, head resting on his shoulder as he met her gaze. “Dreams change. I like books, and I like my work now. Can still appreciate a beautiful line, maybe even more since I know what all goes into making it work. Poetry is a passion, but it ain’t my calling.”

“What about music? Do you miss doing the band thing?”

“I do, yeah. Wasn’t ever gonna be a rock star but fuck if it wasn’t fun. The shit gigs in the shit bars, drinking shit beer with my mates.” He grinned, a faint lift of lips as if he were recalling some distant, fond memory. “All fun when you’re twenty-one and feeling reckless. Didn’t have to mean anything but living in the moment.”

She let her fingers thread with his, thumb brushing his knuckles and his eyes followed the motion. “Living in the moment is definitely a twenties thing.” For a guy who claimed to be terrible at poetic expression, he’d managed to make some pretty profound points, Buffy mused. And there was that word again: passion. Now with another idea she wasn’t sure she really ascribed to. “I don’t know if I believe in a calling,” she told him, deciding to voice it aloud. He didn’t have to be the only one in a word ramble. “Maybe it’s just enough, doing things to make your life good. Greatness not necessarily required.”

William didn’t believe for a second there wasn’t something that sparked her interest. Something that drove her forward. “What’s one of those things then? The good for Buffy? Can’t all be _Die Hard_ movies and pancakes then.”

There was a flicker of a smile, paired with a slight eye-roll at his joking attempts. But she continued on. “Art,” she said. And that was surprising, how it came automatically, and how right it was. As if suddenly remembering there were parts of her life that extended beyond the place she’d burrowed into during her post-life shakeup.

“My mom, she’s a curator so I’ve more or less grown up around art. When we lived in L.A., visiting galleries and museums was our thing to do together, just us girls. And I never found it boring. I liked the paintings, learning about the different movements and styles. What motivated people to just…create these lasting pieces of themselves. The photography was always my favorite. Seeing real faces, real expressions and bodies in motion. Capturing an event and watching it come alive.

No matter where I moved, I always found myself back at a museum or an exhibit. In Sunnydale. And here, in New York. I’d skip law school classes to hang out at the Met or check out local galleries. I’m not a writer. Me and words? Not so much with the mesh. But I dunno, I look at a photo and just…get it. Like a different kind of storytelling.”

Buffy stole a glance to her side, meeting William’s gaze and finding him grinning at her. It brought forth her own smile, this one a bit shy, feeling slightly exposed by the unprompted ramble. “That was a lot to throw at you.”

“S’alright.” There was something in his voice, a hint of dazed and it warmed her a little, especially when he squeezed her hand, the gentle of it all surprisingly reassuring. “Was just enough. You’re fascinating.”

“A very surprising word,” she replied, full on blush creeping into her cheeks. He gave good compliment, she had to hand that to him. Paired with that searching scrutiny in blue eyes, and Buffy could see just how effective his charm could be. “That’s me. Fascinating and full of Buffy layers.”

“Like the ones I’ve seen so far. Do you take pictures or just admire?”

“I used to. I took a bunch of photography courses in college and learning about all these amazing artists like Ellen Von Unwerth and Annie Leibovitz, and Carrie Mae Weems was pretty inspiring. I don’t do much anymore. Outside of social media stuff.”

William nodded thoughtfully, pausing a bit to consider his words. “Noticed that, your Instagram. Still art, right? All nice and curated. As much hell as you’ve given me about mine, it’s obvious some proper thought’s gone into what you’re doing on there. Got the eye for nice things. Sounds like passion enough.”

“You just like the outfit posts,” she quipped. That’s right, Buff. A little joke to keep the guard up and running.

William indulged her deflection, giving a nonchalant shrug at being completely caught out. “That I do. Still art.”

It wasn’t as if Buffy herself hadn’t considered that idea. The things she posted, clothes and interesting scenery and sights from her day to day in the city, effectively capturing her life…or at least the life she wanted to present. It didn’t feel entirely like her real self but it was still interesting. Photography was one of the few instances where she could experience what it seemed like she was missing in the city; that feeling of rightness that had grounded her back at college, or at home in Sunnydale.

And part of her wondered just how much time William had spent gawking at her pictures, but mostly, she was flattered by his honesty. It came unprompted but wasn’t at all unwelcome. Even if it did make her feel a bit exposed. It’d been so long since she’d met anyone new, and completely on her own. All her friends were years old, or friends of friends, and she could never share her thoughts with mere acquaintances. But exceptions could be made for blizzard buddies with nice hands and searching blue eyes.

Those same blues watched her now, and Buffy wasn’t sure what prompted the desire more than just the look he was giving her, or perhaps that tugging heat in her gut, but she was completely fine with acting on it. As if he knew what she was thinking, William licked his lips, mouth curving into a smirk when he noticed her eyes following the movement.

Buffy didn’t question the sudden urge, content to simply satisfy it. A cupped hand on his cheek brought him closer, her lips teasing his with feather-light presses and she smiled at his impatient huff and the grip that tightened on her thigh when their mouths met properly.

She fell easily into his lap, shifting in a straddle with a quiet moan, letting her fingers card through his soft, sandy curls as she indulged in their little makeout. A far cry from their first on that very couch, now with surer hands that coasted and ghosted over skin she’d yet to explore fully. William’s questing fingers skimmed past the hem of her shirt and rested in the small of her back, and he gave an appreciative groan when Buffy jerked at the touch, hips dropping against his crotch.

So, she continued the motion, grinding into him, feeling the length of him twitch between her legs as their mouths moved with another teasing, tasting rhythm. One especially hard push sent her nose knocking into his glasses, breaking the moment and causing them to part with small laughs.

“These are cute but they are really in the way,” Buffy told him, pushing the gold and tortoise-shell frames off his nose and up, letting the glasses rest at the top of his head. Slender fingers combed through the curls at his neck and she dropped a small kiss to the corner of his mouth before asking, “Did you wear them when you had your Spike hair?”

“Sometimes,” he replied, leaning forward to nip at her bottom lip before she could pull away. “Need ‘em for reading, and I mostly stick to wearing them around the flat.”

“How vain of you,” she joked. “What happens when you’re outside?”

“Used to squint a lot. Went really well with the whole ‘bad boy’ vibe.”

That made her laugh, earning a beaming smile that stretched across his handsome face and he pressed it to her cheek. “Going blind for the aesthetic, of course.”

“An important cause, your Grace. Had the whole look. Leather jacket, boots. Even painted my nails.”

“Okay I cannot picture any of that. Might be this hair. You look like an accountant.”

“Oi! No need to get hurtful.”

“Hey, if the geek glasses fit…Ooh!” Her teasing was effectively cut short by the stinging little smack he landed to her bottom, warm hand dipping into the back of her shorts to connect with her bare skin. “You’d better warn a girl before doing that, pal.” She tightened her hand at the back of his neck, giving his curls a tug and was surprised to hear his groan. “Sounds like I’ve awakened something….feels like it too.”

“Forgotten about scolding me, then” he asked saucily, rolling his hips in a gentle thrust and getting a gasp for his troubles.

“Oh, I’m so getting you back for that.” Green eyes glistened with a challenge that William figured she would certainly deliver on (sooner rather than later, if he were lucky). “In the meantime, I was thinking about something else.”

“Something involving more research and less clothes? If so, I’d gotta ask if mind-reading was also one of those Buffy passions.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Nope. Just wondering if you might have any bleach leftover from your days as a badass.” Talk about unexpected. She grinned a bit at his surprise, and the shift into avoiding her gaze told her everything she needed to know, and she let out a little squeal. “You do, don’t you? We should totally do this!”

“Do what?” he asked, merely as a stall tactic because judging from the excited bouncing of the blonde in his lap (that part he definitely wasn’t objecting to), he knew exactly where this was headed. “I hope this curiosity is about your style switch-up.”

“Nope. Yours. We should bleach your hair.”

“Believe those days are behind me. My scalp’s only just forgiven me for it.”

“Oh, please. You’ve got the good conditioner in your bathroom, your hair will be fine.”

“Uh huh. And I’m guessing you’ll be playing stylist then?”

“Naturally.” Buffy plucked his glasses from his head and folded them onto his shirt collar. “C’mon it’ll be fun. I mean, what else are we gonna do?”

William sighed. She had a point. Drinking all day didn’t seem smart, and they’d both get bored with movies. And he had to admit there was a part of him that missed those old days. The reckless, impulsive fun of it all (which he supposed was also how he’d gotten into his current situation, with a lapful of beautiful, persistent, possibly evil blonde), but this was a different kind.

A familiar one. He’d been bleached when he met Dru, though in an effort to be a more serious, more focused man of the world (the kind of grown-up his parents carried on about), he ditched the gear that had seen him through his youth in favor of wearing his specs and keeping a hair color more likely to be found in nature. Drusilla hadn’t been pleased, accusing him of going soft and that had been a knock to the old ego.

Though he could admit she hadn’t been entirely wrong, and that was most irritating part. He had changed, and he’d suspected for a long time that she’d only tolerated it. And that had contributed to their further drifting apart. And maybe, the suddenness of her ‘so long’ letter didn’t seem quite as sudden. Thinking on it was a different, uglier kind of gut punch, one he didn’t feel like unpacking, at all.

But what harm could a little bleach do now? Wasn’t like he was doing it for Dru (though he was planning to take a few pictures of the results. Let her see what she’s missing.) Besides, if he didn’t like it, there was always clippers. And hats.

With a long, dramatic, slightly put-upon sigh, he nodded. “Alright. Fine. But I get to do something to you. Can’t be the only one getting the makeover treatment.”

“We are not dyeing my hair.” There was a no-nonsense tone in that statement and it only made him want to kiss her, so he did, a quick nipping press and he was satisfied with the little moan that slipped out when they parted. “Still not doing it.”

“Oho. Good enough to ruin my hair but not yours, Goldilocks?”

“Yes,” she replied, prim as you please.

He had to laugh. “Fine. Wasn’t gonna suggest that anyway. Open to ideas though.”

Buffy considered the options. There weren’t many, considering the range of possibilities were confined to his apartment but she was nothing if not determined. “Wait! I think I got it.” She slid from his lap and made for her purse, still hanging with her coat. It took a few seconds of searching before she found it, returning to the couch with a bottle of dark crimson nail polish. “Always keep an emergency bottle in my bag,” she told him, grinning.

A deep laugh followed that, and William shook his head. “You remember nail polish but not a change of clothes? Priorities, pet.”

“Shut up.” The bottle, she set on the coffee table and she slid beside him on the couch. “C’mon, Spike. You said you used to paint your nails, so you can paint mine.”

He more than suspected she was playing dirty, especially after the name drop. But he had to admire her game, it was good. Still, a little resistance was also good. Couldn’t be a complete pushover, after all. “Feels like you’re getting a free mani out of this and I might end up bald.”

“Free pedi, actually. And you’ll be fine. These are expert hands.” She flexed her fingers at him, throwing in an eyebrow wiggle for good measure and knew she’d reeled him in when he started laughing.

“Fine, alright. We’ll play hair salon first. That way if anything goes wrong, I’m dumping that whole bottle of varnish on your dainty little feet.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II of that really long chapter. New hair, and Buffy and Spike see each others' best angles.

_Wanna impress you, but I ain't gonna press you_   
_Wanna undo the things I said before._   
_Damn, I ain't been this wet in years._

\-- **Kehlani** 'Water'

* * *

**Sunday Afternoon**

“Whoa.”

Two hours, a ruined towel, and one sopping shirt later, Buffy felt like she was looking at an entirely different person. William’s sandy-colored curls were gone and under her pretty adapt hands (and a pretty impressive bleaching powder and toner), they were replaced by a shock of whitish blond that was surprisingly soft to the touch.

“Coconut oil,” he informed her with a grin. “Little tip I picked up from a stylist back in the day. Pre-treat the scalp, it helps with the burning.”

“Good to know,” Buffy replied. She was standing over him as he sat perched on the edge of the claw foot tub, rubbing a fresh towel through rumpled locks as Buffy discarded the trash from the kit. It was such a startling result, his hair. But she had to admit, it _really_ worked for him.

He was clad in the same black sweats and added a black tee some time after the second application of the frightfully bright bleaching pudding. It made for a nice contrast, the dark color of his clothes and his newly platinum locks. Buffy stood between his legs, toes warming on the bathmat and pushed a hand through his hair. He sighed at the touch, letting the towel drape on the side of the tub as his free hand gripped her bare thigh.

“So, you got your wish” he told her, leaning into the wandering of her fingers and as his own gave her leg a small squeeze.

“And you managed to keep most of your hair. Even if you were being the biggest baby about it.” She couldn’t help teasing him. It made the whole hair experiment funnier, his grumbles. He’d been surprisingly patient when it came to applying the bleach, and the fidgeting had only come once the plastic cap was on his head and they had twenty minutes to kill.

A better part of that wait time had been spent annoying each other, mostly arguing about music which eventually shifted into going through the extensive record collection that Buffy was (begrudgingly, she would only admit to it _begrudgingly_ ) impressed by. After all, it was statistically impossible not to dance when a Prince song was on (the visual of him, bare-chested and sporting a plastic cap while singing along to ‘Kiss’ in a falsetto that would rival the Purple One was a memory Buffy wasn’t likely to forget.) It was her choice, while his selections seemed to favor a louder, punkier variety but still catchy and danceable, feet sliding along the hardwood and she laughed when he’d grabbed her hand and spun them around to The Vibrators.

It’d been a fun time between the bleach, rinse, and repeat, she had to admit that as well. The work paid off; it was possible he was even yummier than before (though she wasn’t telling him that). Though it wasn’t hard to pick up on, judging from the way her fingers carded through the damp curls and the smile he sported, cocky and self-assured.

“Take it you approve, then?”

Buffy barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes, and instead dropped her hand from his hair and stepped out of his hold. “Not bad.” She opted for casual, even with his laughter, rich and rumbling and she shook her head. “Anyway. Believe somebody has a promise to follow through on. Whenever you’re finished primping, I’ll be waiting for my pedicure.”

She wiggled her foot at him before scampering off, waiting until she reached the living room couch to fan herself because hot damn, it was a really good look. He joined her shortly, towel slung over one shoulder and a small case in hand. And to Buffy’s surprise, his glasses as well. “I thought you said the specs weren’t a Spike thing?” she inquired.

“Don’t feel like putting in my contacts, and I need to see to do this” he replied with a shrug. “Less of course you’d rather have a pedi inspired by Pollock.”

“A world of no.” Buffy shuddered at the thought, at least that was her story because he was perched on the coffee table, those strong hands cradling her foot between large palms. His thumb traced the tender skin of her high arch, and she barely suppressed another tiny shiver. And jeez, how the hell was she going to make it through this, reacting like that?

The dark blue towel was draped over his lap, her heel resting on his leg and Buffy settled in, slouching a bit into the soft leather, warm green gaze studying him.

“Could put on some music, pet.”

“I could. Even if you’re going to complain about my music taste.” Her phone was beside her on the couch and she reached for it.

“Seems like I gotta now.” He flashed her a grin and grabbed the bottle of crimson-colored polished.

“Don’t be an ass,” she told him, letting an eyeroll accompany it, even as she attempted to hide her own smile.

“Why not, when you like it so much?” It was so damn cocky, and also accurate, buoyed with a wink and a thumb massaging her ankle and Buffy felt her cheeks flush.

“Can’t confirm that.” She opted for breezy and focused her attention on her phone and finding a good song, eventually deciding on a random, curated mix. “And stop being such a know-it-all.”

“Didn’t say I knew everything. Just picked up on a few things, is all. Now hush, gotta concentrate.” He shook the bottle, tapping it against his open hand before twisting off the top.

The next few minutes were filled with silence, save for the music. Buffy savored the feel of his touch, gentle grip of his fingers holding her feet in place while he painted her bare nails with sure strokes. She loved the color, a deep red that complimented her golden skin and she was surprised to see that he was actually surprisingly good, taking his time to get an even coat on all the nails, leaving time to dry a bit before applying the second. And if another shiver (or two) raced down her spine when he blew on her toes to dry his handiwork, she certainly wasn’t telling.

Though once again, it was incredibly obvious. The little sighs that slipping out when the pads of his fingers pressed into her skin. He was good with his hands, and she watched his mouth. His lips, soft and full, forming a small ‘o’ as he exhaled slowly. Dark brows furrowed behind his glasses, his focus on the task at hand until one foot was completely, pretty toes shining with crimson polish and he was reaching for the other.

“Gotta say, you’re not too bad at this,” she told him, her voice a bit breathier than she’d like but he’d been massaging her foot, just as he did with the other one and she was a little caught up in the feeling.

“Had a fair bit of practice with polish.”

“Right, you said that. Kinda glad you weren’t admitting to having like a secret foot fetish or something.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t move,” came the warning, a rumble of a reply in that lush voice of his, and Buffy nodded. Gingerly, she planted her foot, bending her knee so that her painted toes rested on his thigh, leaving her own legs a little spread while he worked on her other foot.

Buffy watched his hands, the slight tremble not going unnoticed as blue eyes flickered briefly between her parted thighs and she smiled, glad to leave him even the slightest bit shook. “Focus, Spike.”

Spike snorted at that, flashing her a heated look before returning to applying the second coat. “You’re a right tease, Summers.”

“And you like it,” she replied, glad to feed his words back to him.

“That I do.”

The song shifted, from a Cranberries classic to something Spike didn’t recognize, but it had a nice beat going, piano complimenting a slow R&B groove. He chanced a glance at Buffy, who was still watching him, wide peridot eyes a mixture of heat and anticipation and he couldn’t help but grin.

When he was finished, he replaced the top on the polish, screwing it on tight and reaching for the black zippered case he’d carried with him from the bathroom. Inside was a bottle of topcoat, and Buffy was amused at his preparedness. He didn’t seem to mind her laugh, soft as it was as he uncapped the bottle and began to apply the clear coat to both feet. “Always prepared.”

“I like it,” she returned with a small hum. She wiggled her toes once they were all finished, admiring the contrast of dark red and the neatness of his work. “Very professional.”

“Glad to hear that, pet.” The topcoat went back to the case, and neither seemed to be in any rush to move. Buffy’s feet were still in his lap, both propped up on his thighs and his hands were sliding up, past her heels and ankles to gently knead her calves. “I accept all tips.”

“Mmm…best I can do is a ‘thank you’. Especially since I didn’t demand a tip from you. And that was way more work. You’re a total diva about your hair.”

“Maybe I was being difficult ‘cause I knew it’d get a grin.”

“Maybe you’re a jerk.”

Spike laughed. “Maybe. What would you like then, gorgeous? Already got me to switch up the look. Even took the pictures as proof. Which, I’d like to see those, by the way.”

Buffy had been planning to share the pictures she’d taken with her phone of their hair experiment, soon as she had a chance to look over them, herself. They were candid mostly, glimpses of the process from mixing the developer and bleach powder to Spike perched on the bathtub’s edge, a towel draped like a cape and an adorable scowl on his face when she’d mocked him for looking like a cat caught in the bath.

The final few were posed, letting him show off the final product and Buffy was sure it all looked good. Even if she was a little nervous about him seeing it. They weren’t professional, not by any means. But he’d already seemed to know how important photography was to her, so it was slightly intimidating.

“Why? Don’t trust that I wouldn’t get your best angle?”

“You haven’t seen my best angle. Yet.”

There was something in that, in his voice. Simple, sensuous, evoking the faintest little pulse between the legs that were easily parted for him, and Buffy held his gaze. It was bold, and really, she was fine with returning that feeling, letting her legs drift further apart, enough to hear his breath hitch ever so slightly. The vibe between them shifted, a seamless move from playful to something else

“Show me, Spike.” 

His lips twitched, a light smirk lingering as his hands pushed higher, trailing upwards, long legs and soft skin giving way to sensitive inner thighs that he bypassed in favor of the waistband of her shorts. “Lift your hips, luv.”

Buffy complied, rising up slightly, enough for him to drag her shorts down lower, his knees hitting the floor just as they did. One leg, he draped along the arm of the couch and her other, he placed on his shoulder, leaving her open to his gaze, hot and hungry and Buffy bit her lip, watching him watch her.

“Fuck. Look at you.” Spike leaned in, kissing a slow, tortuous path along her thighs, nipping at the skin and soothing it with his tongue. He took his time, blue eyes occasionally glancing upwards to find Buffy still watching him, chest rising with quiet pants, want heavy in her eyes.

He’d wanted this too; so damn badly. Since he first gripped her leg and watched as she took her own pleasure, fucking her slim fingers and the sound of it, god, the sounds. Wetness and her little whines, the trace of her moans when he kissed her lips and watched her tremble with release. He wanted that. On his tongue. On his fingers.

And by the time his mouth met her warmth in a slow, tonguing kiss, barely catching her whimper over his own groan, savoring the taste of her, hot and honeyed, he wondered just how long she’d been turned on, and what exactly brought her to this point, slick against his mouth, pink pearl hard and eager for his attention. So, he indulged, fingers gripping her thigh and keeping her open to his movements.

Buffy’s hips jerked at the sensation, the jolt of pleasure catching her completely off guard and she would have slid further down the couch had it not been for Spike’s firm hold. Her own hand fell to his newly bleached curls, and god, if the sight of that shock of white hair moving between her splayed legs, his tongue curling and swirling around her clit wasn’t enough to leave her a mess, it was the sounds he made. Rough and greedy, his groans rumbling against her sensitive flesh.

And when he slipped a finger inside, curling upwards in a gentle thrust, Buffy couldn’t help the cry that tumbled out, or the shiver that followed. Her body chased the feeling, hips meeting Spike’s exploring touch, and the second finger that joined in only heightened the pleasure. She was moaning louder now, encouraged by the steady tightening of his hand on her leg and the relentless tease of his tongue and skillful hands.

“Please, please, please…” Buffy palmed his curls, keeping his head right where she needed him, the fluttering warmth growing steadily in the pit of her stomach and fuck, was _this_ what she’d been missing out on, that first night? It was almost as if he’d memorized the movements of her own fingers that morning when she brought herself off, spread out for his greedy gaze.

Another hard suck at her clit left her mind blank and her body pushing hard against his tongue and Spike encouraged it, curving and twisting his fingers in her slick heat, letting her walls clench and grip him so tight he could only groan at the thought of being inside her again. This time, much better than the first. The way she was open to him, letting him learn her body and he was eager to explore more.

“C’mon, gorgeous” he crooned, pressing the sweet words to her soaked center in a kiss that earned him another shudder and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s it. Hot little thing you are. You need this, baby. An’ so do I. Wanna see you come apart again for me. Wanna taste it all on my tongue.”

“Ohmygod…” Because _what the fuck,_ who just says shit like that? Hot bleached blonds with sinful accents and dirty mouths and hot hands, apparently. And oh, those fingers were doing some things, stroking and teasing, second only to the shameless way he enjoyed her, sounds bordering on obscene but it was absolutely what she wanted in the moment because the only damn thing she’d had in forever was her vibrator and imagination but this was much better, and before she could even process it all she was hitting her peak, the feeling taking her by surprise, with nothing more than a hard jerk of her hips and a sharp cry.

The shivers continued, long after Spike’s fingers had stilled but he continued to reward her with tender kisses until she was practically climbing up the couch to get a break and get the hell away from his tongue because it was too much and yet, it didn’t stop her from tightening her hold in his hair, wanting more of the feeling, taking him along until he was working her over again, digits thrusting harder just to feel her flutter around them.

“That’s it, baby. One more.” The rest was lost when his mouth met her wetness, returning to coaxing more whimpers from her with every flicker and suck at her. Buffy shuddered at the overstimulation of it all, still unused to coming so quickly after one good orgasm (god it had really been too damn long) and here he was, being a damn overachiever with his hyper-focused determination, bringing her right to the edge again, feeling incredibly greedy about the way this newly bleached nerd with a dirty mouth was such a quick learner when it came to her pussy, but Buffy _did not care_ because Spike was relentless and hot and so fucking good with his mouth and she was already tumbling into another release, sharp and bright, and no time to do anything more but curse, riding it out in a steady rock until she finally stilled, letting her heart settle.

“Oh…” The lone word tumbled out on a tremble, and Buffy let her fingers rake through those silly platinum curls. Spike planted a final kiss to her wetness, leaning into her touch as his head rested against her thigh. Warmth spread all over, and she was still riding the high of her orgasm and the little aftershock that followed, and everything felt cozy and nice and she breathed out a soft laugh. “Now that, that was a tip.”

She felt his amusement, laughter tickling the dewy skin of her inner thigh as he glanced up to meet her gaze. He held it then, darkened blue eyes watching her when he sucked at his fingers, still sticky with her cream and he had to break the stare, eyes briefly closing to savor the taste of her, and god, wasn’t that a visual to tuck away for another snow day.

It was enough to make her flush because she wasn’t new to sex by any means but these latest encounters had her feeling a bit out of her element, though lately, in some really exciting ways. Moving beyond the awkward allowed her to see things different. The fun and naughty parts. And Spike (he was definitely Spike now, the hair, the mouth, the hands), Spike was pretty exciting.

“Was a treat for me too, pet” he replied, pushing up to press a kiss to her chin. Buffy caught a glimpse of his arousal, tenting the front of his sweats and though she was still a little shaky in her comedown, she felt a familiar tingle of need, settling at the base of her spine.

“You’re so good at that.” She cupped his chin, keeping him close so she could kiss him, rewarding his mouth for being so damn talented, enjoying the taste of herself on him.

“Tried to show you the first night,” he reminded her, sounding far too smug and it only made her want to see him a little shaken. He wasn’t the only one with skills. 

“Got a few things I wanna show _you_.” She smiled against his mouth, letting her hand skim down his muscled chest, fingers lightly tugging the waistband of his sweats before letting it snap against his stomach, laughing at the small grunt he made. “Take me back to bed, Spike.”

His chuckle was the only warning she got, still shivering at the sound when suddenly he gripped her hips and tugging her forward, lifting her bodily from the couch and Buffy wrapped her legs around his waist. Spike walked them to the bedroom, arm curled around her waist and by the time they made it to the bed, Buffy had already discarded her t-shirt and was busy tugging off his.

They shed their clothes, trading kisses as their hands gripped and tugged and they were tangled on the bed. It was easy then, for Buffy to clutch at him, flipping him over and settling astride in a straddle as he grinned up at her.

“You look good like that,” he offered, and she leaned down, letting her lips brush his in a tease, moaning when he took more, deepening the press, tongue slipping against her own. They stayed like that, trading kisses and groans, his hands steady on her hips, letting her feel the press of his erection against her butt until they were both panting. “Fuck, Buffy…”

“That’s the plan,” she breathed, reddened lips pressing to his throat, satisfied at the strangled gasp that followed. She grabbed one of the condoms on the nearby nightstand and sat up, smiling when Spike, slipped off his glasses and placed them to the side. Shifting a bit, she made quick work of the condom, tossing the empty wrapper aside before working the latex down his length.

And if she took a little longer than necessary, firming her grip and stroking him, Buffy could totally chalk that up to being thorough. It helped, hearing him. Watching his eyes, darkened and needy, drinking in her movements before rolling up in pleasure. Hers only heightened, and by the time she lifted her hips and joined their bodies, a slow slide, letting him fill her completely while her palms braced his chest, they were both panting again.

“God…” It felt so different from the first night. Blinded by nerves and so far back in her head that she couldn’t enjoy it, but fuck, she was feeling everything now. Full, and the throb of him only made her clench, holding him tightly in her heat and her hips drifted into a gentle rock that Spike met with a small thrust of his own.

“Could pop into the kitchen and get you a banana,” he told her, a flicker of a teasing glint lighting up those expressive blue eyes, still dazed but also delighted at her confusion. “Hear the potassium helps with leg cramps. Wouldn’t want a repeat of the first night.”

“Shut up!” She was laughing though, the joke settling easily between them, and it was surreal, that easy humor. It was nice, too. Heightening her need for him. His amusement gave way to a deep groan, fingers digging into her hips.

“Keep laughing and squeezing me like that, I’ll do whatever you want, gorgeous.”

“Oh really?” Buffy lifted her hips, letting him slip just enough from her, only to sink back, clenching around his cock on the down thrust, repeating the motion as she set a teasing rhythm, riding him and squeezing him inside, savoring the shivers that washed over her and his building moans.

“Yeah, like that. Like that, baby. Fucking hell, you’re beautiful.” His hand pushed upwards, cupping her breast and teasing the darkened nipple, pinching and squeezing in time to meet her thrusts with his hips and hands until her palms trembled against his chest.

Buffy leaned in, shifting her weight against him, her lips seeking his and she moaned into a kiss when he hit a particularly sweet spot. There were no nerves to be found, instinct replacing overthinking, and she gave into the feeling of simply being in the moment. Grounding herself as slender hips continued to thrust and grind against him, letting the feel of him pressed to her and in her be the thing to focus on. The filthy phrases that tumbled freely from his lips and the hungry kisses that followed.

Spike held tight to her hips, pitching to the side and shifting positions. Her head hit the pillow and he curled an arm under her slim curves, holding her tight to him and lifting her hips, guiding her body to meet his as he took over, steady strokes with an angle allowing for deeper ins, chasing down the fluttering clench that had him seeing stars, bursts of light behind the eyes and when he opened them, drinking in the sight of Buffy, blonde hair spilled onto the pillows, the smooth column of her neck bared, Spike could only groan at the glow of it all.

Buffy gripped his forearms, legs hitched to his waist and she pushed into his thrusts, heated tingle spreading from her toes to the top of her spine. “Spike…fuck…harder. _Please_.” She could take it. It felt so damn good, she wanted more. Hovering on the edge of her climax, wanting it so badly, she could feel the tears pricking at her eyes.

Only for Spike to pause, and Buffy was almost ashamed of the whine that followed, caught between begging him to start again and giving him a good pinch once her brain stopped buzzing. But she didn’t have to wait long. He was pushing up to a kneel, his hold tightening around her waist, head leaving the pillow as he brought her with him.

Instinctively, her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, her knees pressed into the mattress and she was once more against him in a straddle. For a brief moment, he slipped in deeper, and Buffy whimpered, forehead dropping to his shoulder as her hips started to move, chasing the feeling that came with gliding up the length of him, til there was nothing left but the tip, only to sink back down.

Again. And again.

And his hands were clutching at her, lifting her hips with the pace she set, letting her control their speed until she was worked into a steady bounce and he palmed her ass, gripping a handful of the soft flesh while his free hand pushed its way into her hair, cupping the back of her neck and bringing her face to his. It was a sensuous grind of give and take, her body meeting his in a rocking down stroke, clutching at his cock, and Spike returned her efforts with a bouncing thrust, pausing the movements to moan their pleasure and lose themselves in the other’s lips.

“Get us both there, yeah?” He moaned, rough and wrung out, nipping at her lips.

She was close, and judging from his sounds, and the desperate tinge to his kisses, so was he. A hand drifted to his bleached curls, gripping hard and tugging harder, relishing his little whine at the pleasure/pain of it all, and she was gone, coming hard and clutching him tight, practically demanding his release with her lips and the grinding pace and she was still working through her comedown, still moving with his erratic thrusts when he came with a shout, wrenching his lips from hers and dropping his face into her neck with a shudder.

Buffy bussed a kiss to his temple, her fingers soothing down his back, muscles bunched and skin slightly sweat slicked but he felt so good and sounded even better. Muffled moans mixed with curses and the rumble of her name into the sensitive skin at her neck had her squirming and he groaned.

“Wait, pet. Too much.”

“Then stop doing that,” She breathed, catching the top of his ear with her teeth. It was cruel, but the choking gasp and hard jerk of his hips that followed had her grinning.

“Now that was just mean.”

Buffy laughed when he pitched forward, her back hitting the mattress again and Spike nestled between her thighs. He was only there briefly before rolling off, slipping from her heat in a move that made them both shudder at the loss.

“Serves you right. Someone remembered that was one of my top five positions. You totally used it against me.”

Spike snorted, his laugh loud and lazy and more than making up for the warmth his body had provided.

“Some might consider that a good thing. You only mentioned it twice during our little card game.”

“That’s because you asked about positions twice, jerk. And I was drunk. Means a babbly Buffy.” She had to hand it to him, he was persistent. And apparently had a memory like a steel trap.

“Had to make sure I was getting all my notes right,” he insisted with a wink. “‘Sides, you’re cute when you’re babbly.” Spike slipped off the condom and tied the end, dropping it into the wastebasket near the bed before rolling back to Buffy’s side. She still hadn’t moved, sprawled on her back, knees bent and pressed together, looking gorgeous and properly shagged and how the hell had he missed it the first night?

There now, in his bed was a woman who’d been seen to, and well. A stark difference from their first encounter. Where the lights were off, bedroom bathed in darkness and sounds he now realized were false.

Because Buffy, in the moment and in her element was nothing short of beautiful. Breathy sighs, shameless moans, with a little gulp of a gasp that fucking hell, really did it for him. Nothing showy. And when she really got into it, she was a bossy little thing; not so much in words, though. What he’d mistaken for silent indecision that night was non-verbal cues. Squeezing her thighs around him, tugging and pulling at his hair. A turn on, for sure.

But he saw them now. Saw her. The freshly fucked, satiated glow, knowing how long it’d been since she’d had that, and he was glad to give to her. His own confidence bloomed at the thought. For the first time since Drusilla left, taking what she wanted and leaving behind what she no longer cared for, he’d felt necessary. Needed. Desired. Maybe even a little appreciated. Lonely no longer the default. Trapped with someone else in the middle of a blizzard was better than drinking himself into a stupor all alone. Even if it was a temporary situation.

He must have been gazing a little too hard and too long because she was glancing over, a nervous little smile gracing her pout, still a little kiss swollen and he figured what was a few more and indulged himself, cupping her face to bring her closer, parting her lips with a quiet groan. Quick fingers tucked a stray blonde lock behind her ear, and Spike was glad to feel her hands wandering as well. She turned slightly, fingers skimming his chest and sliding down to settle on his hip.

“I’m glad we did this again,” she whispered, smiling when he flashed her a brief grin. His hair was massively disheveled and despite their earlier experiment it didn’t reek of the bleaching product. It was soft and nice to the touch, smelling of sweat and his shampoo and conditioner and Buffy couldn’t stop running her fingers through it. But Spike didn’t seem to mind.

He simply curled tighter against her, thumbing her nipple in a way that made her want to jump him. And she would, just as soon as her legs caught the memo to move from her brain.

“Me too, pet. Solid redemption shag.”

Her little snort of amusement was cute, and he liked seeing the crinkle in her nose and the jiggle of her breasts when she laughed. It was so relaxed, and carefree. Like she was comfortable enough around him not to give a shit (and really, they were relative strangers. Relative strangers who did fun things to each other’s private bits, but still. Compared to the first night where she was uptight, it was a nice sight.)

“You make it sound like some kind of sex thunderdome. A shag rematch. A dick doubleheader.” By the end, she was full on giggling and maybe a little slap-happy but Buffy could totally blame that on the post-orgasm sex high and Spike’s wandering hands.

Besides, he was laughing too, and then they were kissing, and eventually reaching for another condom because they had plenty left. And a lot of afternoon to occupy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending you all positive vibes and wishes for good health in this new year! We're moving right along with this story and I've been so thankful for all the comments, kudos, and responses. Next up, some deep pillow talk, and a moment that leaves the pair a little shook.

_Tell me what you're willing to do_   
_Kiss it better, baby_

\-- **Rihanna** , 'Kiss It Better'

* * *

**Early Sunday Evening**

Buffy sighed, delighting in the cool pillow against her cheek, a welcome reprieve for her heated skin. Her body was a mess of stimuli and a pleasant buzz, limbs and other parts tender enough just to make her feel the soreness. It was a good sore. A great sore. A very welcome sore, thanks to the equally winded guy to her immediate left. She grinned, a lazy lift of lips, sated for the time being and in no hurry to move.

Spike had managed to toss the blanket over both of them before he promptly plopped to the side and for that she was grateful. Her thighs still tingled from their earlier romp and Buffy shifted slightly, rubbing against the pillow still propped under her hips, the movement against the silky cotton creating a sweet friction that made her breath hitch.

The shudder had her pressing closer to the mattress, a weary mime of the moves that had her nearly sobbing with pleasure earlier. There’d been an unspoken agreement between her and Spike, trying out the each other’s favorite positions. An exercise easier to accomplish than their attempts that first night. There was still some slap-dash antics, the pair nearly toppling to the floor when a sudden switch in positions had them rolling dangerously close to the edge of the bed. But with the newest comedy of errors came a level of comfort that was a little surprising. And Buffy supposed maybe she wasn’t as freaked out about it (yet), at least currently, what with her legs still in numbing-tingly mode. It was tough to be anything but blissed out.

The feel of Spike’s fingers grabbing at her hips, the angle of his thrusts, sinking deeply, tapping the spot that made her shiver with a determined and relentless precision. She’d clench at him tighter, pushing into him as he pulled her back, bodies meeting in a rocking rhythm that sent them into a quick, hot release and guaranteed a half hour break was absolutely crucial in the moment. Which Buffy didn’t mind at all. Going from a massively long dry spell right into marathon sex had her feeling a little worked over and worn out.

She glanced over at Spike, who’d yet to even open his eyes and seemed to be doing some sort of breathing exercise, mumbling to himself and it made her feel incredibly smug. By that last round she’d more or less rendered him speechless, an impressive feat considering it was he, of the dirtiest of dirty talks. It’d been mostly sounds at that point; rough and wrecked whimpers that had faded into silent shudders by the time he’d collapsed beside her.

Mustering some strength from her seriously depleted reserves, Buffy managed to slip a hand from beneath the cocoon of blanket, reaching over to lightly bop his nose with her finger. When that didn’t elicit an immediate reaction, she did it again, tapping him a few times, a squeal slipping out when he tilted his head just enough to nip at the offending digit. He turned then, blue eyes alight when she gave him one last poke (this time to the cheek) before retreating.

“Just checking to see if you were still with me,” she explained, letting her hand drop into the space between them. Which wasn’t much. She could still feel the warmth his nearness provided, an extra layer of snuggly beneath the blanket. God, she hadn’t felt this damn satisfied in so long.

“Mmm, still here, luv. Barely.” He tucked an arm behind his head, back arching slightly, eliciting a low grunt that spoke of the same achiness that halted Buffy’s own movements. Still, his smile was hard to shake. Satiated and sore was a damn fine feeling. Blindly, he let the hand still lodged at his side slide towards the beauty beside him, pale fingers finding her slender ones, and he trailed the soft skin in an idle motion.

“Barely’s good,” she replied, voice taking on a tone that sounded suspiciously sleepy, and sure enough, he caught the tail end of a rather cute yawn that she didn’t even bother to hide.

“Not tapping out on me now, are ya?”

Her brow furrowed, giving him an indignant look that warred with the obvious follow up yawn she was clearly fighting and Spike had to laugh. “Says the guy who couldn’t speak not five minutes ago.”

She had him there, but not to be outdone, he merely shrugged, trying for casual but it was difficult when his shoulders still smarted from her nails digging into the skin. “Can’t talk about that, when you’re still in the same spot, pet. Least I’ve moved in the last twenty minutes.”

“Pffft. Moving’s overrated.”

“Says you.”

“I do say, buster.” She wiggled her hand away from his still stroking fingers and opted instead to poke at his palm. “Stop sounding so smug. Liked it better when you were begging.”

The heat brought on by that was a welcome surprise, little jolt of fire that tugged at his belly and settled lower and Spike lifted his lips in a twitching smile. “Do you, now?”

“Mmm, yes.” Buffy sighed, her mind flashing back to visuals from earlier, straddling Spike, her head thrown back, squeezing and clutching around him, guiding her hips in a deliciously slow grind, torturing them both as her fingers threaded through his in a crushing grip. He was a sight, pleasure darkening those expressive blue eyes, plump bottom lip caught between his teeth, moans tumbling out in between panting breaths until he was pleading for her to speed things up.

Payback was certainly a bitch, however. It was how she ended up in this particular position, ass still perched on a pillow, and a tingle in her legs.

Spike smiled, as if he knew exactly where her mind had wandered off to (his had certainly taken a very graphic detour). “Be alright with that happening again.”

“Are you always so agreeable about sex?” she asked, curiously.

“Pretty open to most things,” he replied. “Not sayin’ I get really wild and crazy with it but exploring can be a proper turn-on.”

“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”

Spike turned to her, letting his grin linger long enough to turn into a sultry smirk. “We playin’ another round of truths, then?”

Buffy shook her head. “No cards or warm beer this time. Just good ol’ fashioned pillow talk.” This time she was able to move, shifting the pillow out from under her pelvis and wiggling upwards to commandeer the empty half of Spike’s. He was pleased, having her close again, free hand reaching over to return her earlier nose bop.

“Craziest thing? We talking places, scenarios, or props?”

“You’re a props man?”

“You asking or offering?” That came with an eyebrow wiggle and Buffy found herself laughing.

“Easy there. No breaking out the cuffs and collar.”

“There a ‘yet’ or ‘never’ with that?”

“Just answer the question. However you want.”

Spike grinned, thoroughly enjoying the way she hadn’t bothered giving a straight answer, the swift dodge only further piquing his curiosity. “Not too wild with props. Handcuffs, silk ties. Scenarios, and places…plenty of those. Had sex in a church once.”

“A church.”

“Right before my mates’ wedding.”

Buffy shook her head, her voice incredulous. “Sure hope you weren’t in charge of the rings.”

Spike laughed. “Nah. Just a guest. Was bored, so me and my girl took a walk. Found ourselves in the vicar’s private quarters. Entertained ourselves. Thrill of getting caught doing bad things in a good place, all that rot.”

“If that doesn’t guarantee a VIP spot in hell…”

“Might’ve been worth it.” His voice had taken on a wistful tone, and Buffy found herself eager to poke him again and indulged it, getting him on the shoulder and letting her fingers linger on the still-reddened scratch marks there.

Spike shivered at her touch, letting it yank him back to Buffy’s green-eyed gaze and their conversation. “What about you, pet? Any wild and crazies?”

“Not unless you count sex over holiday break in my childhood bedroom with nothing but a faulty lock on the door and only ten minutes til turkey time.”

Spike was too entertained by that particular visual, and he flashed her a brief grin. “My my, Summers. You live on the edge.”

“Sorry we all can’t have sacrilegious booty calls. But I think the danger of ruining dinner time counts as wild.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded. “But a pre-yam shag can’t be your wildest story, can it?”

She smiled at that, knowingly. “Okay fine. Sex in the library stacks. During finals week. I considered it a study aide.”

“Of course,” he agreed with a nod. “Somewhere in there’s a joke about taking dictation—”

“And if you want to finish the rest of our respective top fives you’d better not make it,” she warned. Spike only chuckled at that, pleased to even hear her mention them having yet another go at each other. He wasn’t sure where the hell he’d get the energy for it, with his body still feeling every bit of its aches, but he couldn’t deny that knowing she wanted him and wanted more did something to the ol’ ego.

There they were, settled in bed, chatting almost like friends. It was a level of comfort he’d missed, long before his (now ex) beloved packed up her things and sauntered out of his life. Though things with Dru had been like this, in the wild, good days. Endless stretches of shagging and sharing secrets.

In the end, it was the silences. Yawning before them, a wide chasm of miscommunication. Even the fights had lost their fire, cold quiet creeping in, so bloody unbearable. As if they’d simply stopped trying. And that had been a fucking shame.

Spike had wandered far into his thoughts, he’d missed Buffy’s question. Her fingers were still stroking him, this time skimming his collarbone and he glanced down, meeting her questioning gaze.

“Sorry luv. Come again?”

“Got a little lost, there. Not even a tiny innuendo to spare.”

“Could scrounge one up if that’s what you really want.”

“Girl likes a bit of effort, is all I’m saying.”

He grinned. “My apologies.”

She returned his smile. “You can make it up to me. Tell me about your first time.” The responding groan was loud and enough to make Buffy giggle. “That bad, huh?”

“Well, it wasn’t good.” He gave a resigned sigh. “Didn’t happen til university. I was a lovesick little nerd, all heart eyes for a bird miles out of my league. Wrote her poetry, the whole pathetic lot. Think in the end, she might’ve pitied me, which was worse than her just ignoring me or shutting me down. Though, that came afterwards. Made it public, and all. Should’ve known better. Cecily was a theatre major, she liked the spotlight.”

His mouth had tightened, and Buffy reached up, letting her fingers brush a corner of his lips until he relaxed the firm frown. “Sorry to bring the mood down with such a buzzkill question,” she told him.

Spike shook his head. “S’alright. You couldn’t have known. Besides, it’s years behind me now. Changed my look, changed my attitude. Some good came from the mess.”

“Still…but if it helps, mine wasn’t exactly the stuff of rom-coms, either.”

“Yeah? Some burly, milquetoast jock get his clammy hands all over you?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Not too far off, actually. Except not so much with the burly. He was a baseball player. Named Scott. Total boy next door type. I was way nervous about it. He thought we were in love. I thought sex would change things between us afterwards. Turns out, I was right because he broke up with me not long after. At the homecoming dance, while we were waiting in line to get our pictures taken.”

“Wanker.”

“Very very,” she agreed with a nod. “It was so totally high school and dramatic. But not world-ending. I can’t even remember the reason he gave, it was so stupid. Later experiences were better.”

“Sure the library bloke would agree with that.”

“Seeing as how that was my recent ex, I think so.”

Spike arched a brow and turned, a little surprised. “Oho. Amish Wonderbread? Figured he was vanilla through and through.”

Buffy wrinkled her nose. She wanted to be offended but couldn’t deny Riley’s utter blandness. Early days, his charm was sweet, if a little overwhelming. She never really found herself swooning over it, or feeling the way she should have, all caught up in him. Perhaps that should have been a sign. “Kind of an insult to vanilla. More like…lime jello. But he wasn’t always like that. Least not in the beginning.”

“Ain’t that how it always goes,” Spike replied sagely.

Buffy gave a small hum. Her fingers pressed into his warm skin, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beating. “What, good in the beginning, spectacularly shitty at the end? Big yup.” She sighed. Their talk had taken an unexpected turn, but she found herself actually wanting it to continue. Perhaps because she hadn’t really unpacked a lot of the situation. And Spike offered her a different kind of listening ear. Someone not as familiar with everything like her friends, and judging from his responses, there were bits he could more than likely relate to.

“Riley and I started dating junior year of college. He was stable and focused, and I liked that. Before I’d just been kind of coasting through college. Friends and parties, exploring my options. It felt good, trying new things. He was so passionate about his goals and it was motivating. He was curious and encouraging. You know, offering suggestions for what classes to take or places to intern, or careers to look into. Looking back, I realized he was just trying to build the Buffy he wanted. A perfect little companion to the life he’d already planned for himself. Kickboxing was ‘cute’ but wouldn’t yoga be ‘more suitable’. Photography was a ‘fun hobby’ but I needed to ‘buckle down’ and wouldn’t law school be just the ‘fun challenge’ I really needed.”

The bitterness was heavy in her tone, but Buffy didn’t feel like stifling it at all. There’d been enough private wallowing and public attempts at being over it. Which she was. It was the right decision and she was better off. It just felt good to vent.

The more she talked, the less Spike liked this bloke, who sounded like a complete wanker of the highest order. Thankfully, it seemed like Buffy had come to a similar conclusion, judging from her words when she spoke again.

“It was totally patronizing. I know that now. But then…I was in love with him. And looking through his eyes at this Buffy with so much potential, I’ll admit I liked it. I got into law school, which felt like this awesome thing because even if I didn’t do it for me, I still did it on my _own_. That made me happy. He was happy. And my mom, god, she was so proud. But then I’m in a new city, at this big law school, studying something I absolutely hated. Realizing it wasn’t me. Looking through that Riley lens long enough, it made me doubt my own Buffy vision.”

“So, you quit,” he offered, voice a gentle rumble.

“Yeah,” she replied softly. “The first decision in our relationship that really felt like _mine_. Riley was…he was pissed. I think once I started working at the bar, that was the start to the real end of us. He was moving up the corporate ladder in some cushy finance job he scored through connects and there I was, his other half. Law school dropout and full-time barmaid.”

Spike shifted, letting his free hand curl around her shoulder, pleased when Buffy gathered closer, her head resting on his chest. “Wonderbread couldn’t deal with that?”

“Big no. Surprisingly, we lasted for almost three more years after I started working at Venus but the strain…god it got really bad. In the end, I think we were both over it. Over each other. Relationship done. I moved out, and I’ve been staying at my friend Faith’s place ever since.”

She lifted her head, his fingers pausing their soothing run through her soft blonde locks when sharp green eyes met his questioning blues. “So that’s my story. Everyone else has their shit together. Jobs and careers and marriages and then there’s me. Buffy the bartender, trolling hookup apps and meeting hot randos.”

The lift of her still kiss-swollen lips aimed for self-deprecating, and something tugged at Spike, seeing her in such a vulnerable moment. He knew what that felt like, and it endeared her to him, spurning him to offer words in some hope of commiserating. “Sounds like your former was the one with the problem, luv. A git with a massive complex, and you caught the brunt of it.”

Buffy gave that a short nod. Because yeah, Spike had a point. It was hard to explain that she wanted to make things work because of her fear at failing in relationships. Bearing witness to the explosion of her parents’ marriage, and the lackluster in her own love life. She’d put up with a lot of bullshit with Riley that in hindsight, she should’ve shut down. “You let me babble again.”

“Thought I made it clear babble-Buffy is a bit of alright.”

“Careful, you’re starting to sound like me.”

“Mangling the English language? Can’t have that now.”

“Such an ass…” There was no snark behind it, and Buffy followed the words with a flickering glimpse of a grin, attempting humor and Spike appreciated the bitty moment of banter.

His other hand still cradled his head and he dipped a little lower, enough to let his lips graze hers in a thoughtful press. He didn’t push any further, simply graced her forehead with the same gentle motion before settling back down.

If he noticed the slight tremble in her mouth, well he wasn’t gonna point that out either.

Instead, he figured he could meet her halfway with the sadsack tale. Because he understood. He really did. The self-loathing, the uncertainty. It called to him.

“Drusilla was my first, and only serious relationship.” His honesty came on the end of long-sigh. “Before, there was Cecily—which you know—and some situations that could probably be classified as ‘fun but harmless’ and maybe ‘regrettable’. Then there was Dru. She was remarkable. Mysterious. Had this way about her…she could draw you in. Brought me out of my shell, she did.”

“Is this before or after you came to the States?” Buffy asked.

“Before. Dru was a bit older, already graduated by the time I decided to finish my junior and senior years at NYU. But she moved with me. Dunno if her tagging along was my idea or hers but we were a matched set by then.”

His voice had taken on a faraway lilt, and instead of bringing him back to the present with touch or questions, Buffy let him continue, instead, her curiosity piqued. “Mum and Dad weren’t fond of that. Bad seed, that Drusilla. Comes from a good, respectful family but she was unpredictable, and wild. Set out to corrupt their youngest.” Spike scoffed. “She was a marvel. Never realized how lonely I was til she came along. Loved me, much as she could, and I wanted to be whatever the hell she needed, so ‘just enough love’ was enough. Til it wasn’t, I guess. Now none of it feels real.”

“I get that.” Her voice had gone quiet, her fingers tracing idle patterns into his muscled chest and she fought the urge to sigh. “You spend such a long time with this one person, being a unit, suddenly it’s just you with memories and hindsight by the bucketful.”

“That’s it. Feeling like a fuck-up.”

“The loser of the breakup.”

“Knowing they’re out there living their lives while you’re doing whatever to distract yourself.” It was invigorating, letting the bitterness fly and he was glad to see Buffy doing the same.

“But it doesn’t help, because you’re always wondering about the why,” Buffy added. “He said I was holding back. But I moved across the country. I went to law school. I ate those stupid gross pimento cheese sandwiches and dressed in the naughty nurse outfits. I was _so_ there.” 

“Knew I was hers, but it never felt like she was really all mine. Just easy to discard. Like this apartment.”

That made Buffy look up, surprise written all over pretty features. “This apartment? It was yours and hers?”

“It was,” he replied, glancing down at her, a look in blue eyes that made her think there was decidedly more to that story than he was letting on. “Told you I worked in a bookshop. No way I could afford these kinda digs peddling bestsellers and rares.”

Buffy made a small noise of agreement at that. “Fair point. This place is pretty nice. But maybe something new could be good, too.”

“Someone was singing a different tune yesterday,” he teased, letting his grin linger against her forehead. “Believe there was an ‘amazing’ tossed in there.”

He couldn’t see her eyeroll but she did it anyway and gave him a poking for good measure. “Well, that was before I knew it came with crappy memories. Now I can admit it’s kinda drafty.”

“Tough words for a lady whose current domain is a borrowed living room,” he shot back, absolutely delighted by her little show of loyalty.

“I have a whole guest room, you ass” she replied, unable to stifle her laughter, the sound following a rumbled chuckle from his own chest. “Not for long, maybe. Faith and Kendra wanna move in with each other. It’s one thing to stay with someone who has occasional sleepovers, but live-in girlfriends? Just call me third wheel.”

“Why not find something of your own?” he wondered. His fingers returned to their previous spot, threading through her silky hair, letting the bright blonde strands slip and slide back to her shoulders, light enough to make her shiver against him.

“I could. I guess…it’s stupid, but I’ve never actually lived on my own. It’s been me and my mom and sister for so long, then living in dorms with roommates, and then eventually with Riley. I know I can do it, and it’d probably be a total relief. But I dunno, it also feels kinda…” She trailed off, unable to gather her words into something to accurately describe the jumble of emotions. Thankfully, Spike spoke again, breaking through the tangle.

“Know what you mean, luv.” And he did. Hell, she managed months post-breakup, doing her own thing. He’d barely been three days out of his relationship before putting up a profile and needing to get the hell outside of his head and the apartment’s ringing quiet. “Sometimes you gotta go through something. Just to see if you can get through it. Other side might be a wall. Might be something else. But at least you know, yeah?”

It was pretty profound for a guy who claimed to struggle with piecing together poetry; the words settled between them, in a silence that resonated with Buffy as she considered their weight. It wasn’t advice, wasn’t the words of encouragement she valued from the people who knew her best, but ultimately only enhanced the guilt she felt at not living up to the potential they so clearly saw (that she sometimes struggled with). Instead, Spike simply let her talk, and shared his own experiences. She didn’t feel as if she was being pushed into a solution. For that, she was grateful.

Lifting her head from its resting spot, she inched upwards, closing the minute gap between them, letting her lips meet his in a kiss. It was tender and a bit tentative, a feather soft press that gradually deepened when Spike cupped her cheek, keeping her firmly in place and tilting her face to give him better access, easily sinking into the languid, thrilling exploration.

They both groaned when his tongue slipped into the waiting heat of her mouth, tangling with hers in a light tease. It went without saying, though she happily repeated the thought in her brain whenever they started in on these little makeout sessions, but they were _really_ fucking good at this. Buffy liked that he wasn’t pushy, instead the lead was a give and take, nibble here, suck there, unhurried and greedy and heady in a way that sent a little flutter and throb straight between her legs. And god, she was still sore but any more action like that, the way his tongue curled against hers, and she would be completely rethinking the time out.

Spike’s other hand remained tangled in her hair, and hers decided to do a little wandering of its own, slipping past the blanket carelessly draped on his hips, giving him a feather light stroke and Buffy grinned at the gulp that followed and the twitch of him against her motions, a warm shiver of pride racing down her spine at the thought of getting him so worked up with minimal effort. His reaction only propelled her further, letting her hand drift down the length of him, hardening in her palm and it was easy then to give a firm squeeze as she guided her fingers in a hard upwards stroke.

Wordlessly, she parted from his lips, a rumbling moan following after her as she kissed along his jawline, dipping lower from his neck and collarbone, leaving a trail of heated presses from his chest and finally stopping where her hand was still busy stroking him.

He was harder still, and her thumb swiped at the sticky crown of his cock, and Buffy dipped her head, sucking his savor from her thumb. A downward stroke revealed the rest of him, uncut and begging for her mouth. Or that could have been Spike himself, he wasn’t entirely sure if it could’ve been classified as words. His breathing had quickened and he waited, content to simply following her lead.

So Buffy indulged him, and her own wants, letting her lips wrap around his tip, moaning at the weight of him against her tongue and she eased down, lips stretching around his girth, following the slower stroke of her fingers, lips trailing until she felt him hit the back of her throat and then she swallowed.

She was caught up in her actions, but still managed to catch his surprise shout. Felt it too, his hips giving a quick jerk and if she hadn’t pulled back slightly at just the right time, she would’ve surely gagged. That earned him a sharp pop to his inner thigh, which only made him groan louder, but he apparently got the message. She was in charge.

There was a slight tugging at her scalp, and the curtain of hair that had fallen in her quest to taste him was suddenly pushed back, giving Spike a clear view of her. And what a sight it was. That full, pretty pout stretched around him. Coupled with the feel of her mouth, warm and wet, second only to heat between her thighs and fuck, wasn’t that a beautiful dilemma, struggling to decide what he wanted, her mouth or her sweet quim.

So engrossed in his conundrum, he hadn’t notice the stroking had stopped and briefly he wondered where her wondrous hand had disappeared to when the answer came in the form of light fingernails teasing his sac and Spike cursed roughly.

Fuck, she was laughing at him. The little minx. He couldn’t even glare properly, too wrapped up in trying to stop his eyes from rolling back, but he managed to catch Buffy’s grin, the head of his cock nestled between her smile and Christ, that was a lovely sight.

A pink tongue darted out, dipping and sucking at his crown, nibbling at his foreskin, tasting the pearly essence that wept from the tip while she continued to tease his balls and fuck, he was gonna come if she kept that up and bloody hell, he didn’t want her to stop because god, he couldn’t remember the last good blowjob he’d gotten and Buffy was putting on a whole damn show and Jesus wept she was deep throating him again and oh balls, she was moaning around him, and was she wet, he wanted to know, _needed_ to know but dammit there went those wandering fingers again, her nails were the devil and he needed to feel more of that and suddenly it stopped, his dick missed her hot little mouth and suddenly there was kissing, faintly tasting himself on her tongue and fuck yes, that was hot too, and she was stroking him again, jerking him off and his hips were moving, chasing down more of that feeling and then she was whispering that she wanted him again because she was so wet, couldn’t he feel it and then he was reaching for the condom tucked under his pillow because he’d kept it there for easy access and wasn’t he so smart for thinking ahead and then it was out and she was rolling it down his aching cock the same way she’d been stroking and teasing him but now he wanted her pussy, and her hip was over his leg and she wrapped an arm around his shoulder and then he was inside and they were both still exhausted from earlier but this, fucking hell, _this_ was good.

“Buffy…Christ…”

“Yes, like that. Oh, Spike.” Her hips shifted against his, his hand settled in the curve of her waist, thumb stroking the sensitive underside of her breast as he sank into her. They were barely moving, lying on their sides as they were, was just enough for a pace that wasn’t as punishing as their earlier play but judging from how worked up they both were, it wouldn’t matter. Spike was hardly holding on as it was, and Buffy’s hand fell from his shoulder and slipped between them, rubbing her slick, sensitive clit just as Spike kissed her, greedily taking the moans that fell freely from her mouth , hot and needy as they moved together, grinding hips and panting breaths between messy, wanton kisses until she fell into him with a shudder, forehead digging into his shoulder as she whimpered through her release, clenching impossibly tight around his ungainly thrusts. “Spike, _please_.”

“I’m there, luv. Oh fuck, I’m there I—” His hand dug into her side, needing the anchor because he surely felt as if he were floating, bright bursts of pleasure spreading through him, leaving a trembling kind of warmth in its wake and he barked out a gasping laugh and shuddered to a stop, feeling her pussy still pulsing wildly against him, greedy even as her body still buzzed with release. He winced at the sensation, even as his hips pushed into it. Buffy shivered against him, and he pulled her tighter to his muscled frame, letting his lips drift along her damp hairline while his hand trailed along her back.

They were both silent, save for their slowly quieting breaths. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though it carried an intensity that was as surprising as what had just transpired between them. Neither really knowing how to describe it, and Buffy was glad that Spike was the first to break the tension.

“You okay, sweetheart?” The question came with a kiss to her forehead that was achingly tender and further adding to her confusion. The word different from the fairly generic endearments he’d managed since the start of her stay, or the teasing ones unique to her. Totally different, this. Somehow it felt personal. Intimate.

Still, she found herself nodding, and opting not to point it out, though noting the slight wavering in her voice when she finally found her words. “Officially tapped out.”

“Yeah.” He was breathing heavily still, feeling it in her hair as his lips still kissed her temple. “Caught us both by surprise, this last one.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Wasn’t too rough, was it?”

“No,” came her whispered reply. She lifted her head from its resting spot, her gaze meeting his. Beneath the post-orgasm sheen, there was something quite guarded in those green eyes. And Spike didn’t know whether to find her confusion questionable or comforting. He was in a similar boat.

Wondering how they’d gotten here. From spontaneous, naughty blowjob to a fast coupling that left him raw and with an ache that echoed of longing and an intimacy with a slightly frightening ease. He was a bit flummoxed. Buffy, he could practically feel her fluster, though she added to her response with equal quiet. “It was good.”

Buffy’s hand cupped his cheek and he leaned into the touch. He could smell her essence on those still damp fingers, and he turned enough to press a kiss to her palm and breathe her in, savoring the sweet musk of her arousal. Their bodied entwined, legs tangled, his arm settled in the small of her back and he accepted the kiss she planted on him with a low hum.

“Buffy…” It was a moan, but felt like a question, or a start to one and Buffy didn’t want that, not just yet. It felt like a lot. Spilling about Riley, hearing about his ex. And the sex. She’d practically pounced on him. It was quick and hot and so fucking good and that was all she wanted to dissect about it.

“It’s okay.”

Her fingers trailed upwards, catching in soft white-blond curls, repeating the motion in the quiet lull. Though her back was to the window, Buffy could feel evening settling in. And a stray thought occurred to her to check the weather.

But that would require her moving, breaking the feeling in the moment and much as she didn’t get the weight of what had happened between them, she wasn’t in a rush for it to end. Her hand continued to comb through his hair and when Spike’s hold had slackened against her, she realized he’d fallen asleep. She watched him, the rise of his shoulder and chest, a peaceful look on his handsome face.

And whoa, she needed to move. Painfully aware of how much it was, lying beside him, wrapped up in each other, in a way that wasn’t at all indicative of a one-time deal. Sure, that concept had technically flown out the window once she decided to stick around. And okay, they’d made a deal that their ‘one-night stand’ was only really over once the snow and storm had stopped and she was able to leave and that any and all interactions would be solely relegated to their snow-induced situation and would be null and void once the streets were cleared. She could deal with snark. Flirty snark, or sexy banter because he had a lot of that despite his earlier, nerdier appearance.

But then there was sharing. And really good sex. And then this, with the staring and holding and cuddling.

Okay, getting up now.

Thankfully, her bladder had made the decision for her. She heeded the call, disentangling from Spike and slipping from the bed.

Dammit, it really was kind of drafty in this place. Shivering, she sidled down the hallway and slipped into the bathroom to quickly pee.

A cursory glance at the mirror showed that she was suffering from a rather spectacular case of bedhead slash sex hair and since she was already in the place and sticky enough to justify it, she hopped in the shower.

Buffy scrubbed down then gave her hair a quick rinse with Spike’s incredibly nice conditioner afterwards. She didn’t bring in any clothes, but the towel would suffice, wrapping into its fluffy warmth once she finished washing up. Her hair was braided and twisted into a top knot and with her head totally de-fuzzed and feeling slightly less cloudy on the inside.

Sex buzz, that’s all that was. Girl gets out of a dry spell and kinda goes a little wild with it. Sure, it was easy to rationalize in an empty bathroom while generously helping herself to smooth, lightly scented lotions. The real test would be to keep that momentum of thought rolling once she stepped out of the bathroom and back to her sleeping blizzard buddy.

Penis pal.

Friendly fuck.

God, she was getting a little loopy. She surmised it could’ve been hunger. Possible considering the last time they’d eaten had to have been hours ago. And as much as she was enjoying pilfering Spike’s bath products, clothes and a hot meal were of the highest importance.

With a fortifying sigh, Buffy gripped the doorknob and stepped out, only to run into something decidedly warm and solid and…muscley. “Oof!”

“Steady on, luv.” Spike gripped her arms, his hot hands meeting her squeaky clean and silky forearms, righting her enough so that she peered up at him.

“Sorry. I didn’t…you were asleep.”

“Little power nap, is all. Quick thirty’s good for me.”

She frowned. “It’s been that long?”

“Bit longer, but yeah. Lost track of time?”

“Guess so,” she replied with a nod. His thumbs were still stroking her, and it was incredibly nice (and really fucking distracting) and Buffy only leaned in just a smidge before pulling away. “Sorry, did you wanna use—”

“Was about to pop down and grab the rest of the laundry. Got the sheets earlier but figured you’d like your togs.” It was then Buffy noticed that he was dressed. Or partly, with black sweats and boots thrown on in what she could only assume was haste, though his chest was bare.

“You’re going like that?”

He laughed. “Not too far. No one should be out, and if so, they get a free show. Better that than someone lifting your unmentionables.”

“That a problem in your building? Panty pilfering?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Buffy laughed. Banter was a good place to rest. Less of the weird, more with the joke makin’. She could pretend not to notice his lingering looks, as if he were trying to work something out. It made her tug the towel wrapped around her curves a little tighter and she shifted from one foot to the next. “I’d better let you go. Since you’re rescuing my underwear, and all.”

“Alright there, luv?” The concern in his tone didn’t go unnoticed, the attempt at casual inquiry masking it, but not so well. And there went that look again, thoughtful with a slightly furrowed brow.

“Peachy,” she assured him breezily. “Maybe a little hungry. And I did say there was a draft in there.”

“Could do something about both, once I get back. Late enough now for dinner.”

“That sounds great. I can help.”

His features shifted, pleased at the offer. “Course. Was thinkin’ pasta.”

“Mmm. Delicious.” She saw his intent to kiss her before he even leaned in, their lips meeting in a gentle press and Buffy couldn’t help it, she sighed at the contact. Stupid soft Spike lips.

“Could say the same thing,” he rumbled, because of course he had to be stupidly charming on top of the damn kissing. “Be back in a bit, your Grace.”

He was off, footsteps heavy in those ridiculous boots, and it wasn’t long before Buffy heard the light slam of the front door, and she leaned against the bathroom doorjamb, breathing a long, slow sigh.

“Shit.” Yep. It was definitely time to check the weather.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reality check and some things are realized. We're rolling right along with this little story. The next chapter is nearly complete (and whew, it's a doozy), and the outline is completely finished. Totally called it, by saying we'll be wrapping up at 12 chapters (and if I reworked some things and added an extra chapter well I'll never tell). But as always, thanks for reading, and let's dive right in.

_How can I tell myself, if I can't tell anyone else_  
_I'll stick my thoughts on the shelf 'til tomorrow_

\-- **Dum Dum Girls** 'Heartbeat (Take it Away)'

* * *

**Later Sunday Evening**

Back in her own Buffy clothes was a grounding feeling. It lifted some of the Spike-shaped sex haze long enough for her thoughts to reset. Her thick gray sweater was cozy, complimenting the warmth they’d managed to cook up in the kitchen with a pasta that probably wouldn’t have taken as long to make if it hadn’t been for the kissing that proved to be a damn distraction.

Indeed, Buffy had nearly scorched the tomato sauce when Spike insisted on nibbling at her neck, lips brushing the curve and blunt teeth sinking into skin, just enough to make her shiver, and a little heavy-handed with adding the red wine. Once the peppers were sliced and added to the thickened sauce and it was all on a safe simmer, she’d pushed him against the counter and paid him back for his obnoxious but admittedly appealing distraction techniques because he was still shirtless from his trip down to the laundry room and smelled like fabric softener and garlic and basil which was a weirdly hot scent combination or perhaps it was her raging thirst talking and ugh, she should probably pump the brakes on this snogfest because she was strongly considering jumping his nerdy, glasses-wearing bones again, and that was definitely not the best idea so close to an open flame and boiling pasta water.

So, she practically pushed him out of his own kisses, sending him off to dress properly, albeit with fabulously mussed curls and a dark hickey right beneath his jawline. It was still visible when he returned a half hour later, freshly showered, and safely clad in fitted black jeans and a soft-looking long-sleeved shirt in a dark blue that stretched over his chest and complimented his eyes, once again sporting those gold-rimmed specs.

Said eyes were focused on her and he tossed a smirk in her direction before drifting to the plated tomato and peppers pasta set out on the counter, paired with glasses of the red wine they’d opened for the sauce.

“Looks great, luv” he told her, easing onto one of the stools.

“With almost no thanks to you,” she replied, bringing their forks and joining him at her own stool. “You’re the worst sous chef ever.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about.” The smile he offered said otherwise and Buffy rolled her eyes, because he was being cute and he knew exactly what the hell he was doing.

“Uh-huh.” Buffy watched him taste her handiwork, smiling as he chewed thoughtfully and added a bit more crushed red pepper to his plate. “Taste good, too?”

“Just needed a bit of a kick. But you’re a dab hand in the kitchen.”

Buffy gave a happy hum at the simple, genuine compliment before digging into her own dinner.

“Before I forget,” he started, determined to shift her attention with hopefully some good news and a grin. “You mentioned kickboxing. Wanted to get back into it?”

“Oh,” Buffy squinted, recalling their earlier conversation during the mini tour. “Right, yeah. I did. Why?”

Spike twirled more sauce-drenched spaghetti around his fork. “My mate Charlie, he runs a rec center in Harlem. Mostly works on the youths side, but there’s plenty of classes for adults. Nothing fancy but better than some overpriced fitness lab. And not too far from Greenwich if you were looking for a good spot.”

The suggestion was a nice one, and Buffy grinned, completely pleased. He was doing his best to keep a casual air, tossing it out in the midst of their meal and a good bottle of red, but Buffy was grateful for his close attentions.

“I’ll have to look it up,” she told him. “But that sounds really good. Thank you.”

He ducked his head but Buffy managed to catch his grin in between bites of pasta. “No problem.”

Dinner moved along pleasantly, though Buffy couldn’t help but notice the domesticity of it all; wine and conversation, and the feels Spike copped as they cleaned up once they’d both eaten their fill. The awkwardness that had ruled their earlier exchanges had long faded, and Buffy wasn’t sure when she actually started enjoying his company (she would certainly insist it happened a few orgasms ago), but it didn’t escape her notice, the ease of their interactions. The seamless teamwork in the kitchen. Even hampered by Spike’s handsy-ness, the flirtations felt…expected. All part of their dinner prep dance.

Stuffed with basil and tomato-y goodness, the pair retired to the couch. And if she leaned into Spike a little closer, she wasn’t going to admit to it. Neither would she confess that him pushing a hand under her sweater to rub her stomach when she complained about being too full didn’t make her feel a different kind of rumbly.

Nope. Not at all.

She wasn’t even sure what they were watching on television, just that Spike had finally landed on a channel and was distracted enough that she could break out her phone. Her first task should’ve been checking the progress of the storm, but instead she’d texted him the pictures from their hair adventure. They were shots, of him, his hair, lots of surly pouting, and also the two of them. Those, he had taken himself, insisting on it since his arms were longer though Buffy swore it was because he was a total diva about his ‘proper angles’.

She had to hand it to him, though. The pictures were good (almost as good as hers, he’d told her cheekily) He sported a slight smirk that paired well with his newly platinum locks, giving him a cocky air that she was sure he’d practiced many times before. Her smile was a relaxed one, her face pressed to his in a way that could almost be considered sweet, but she reasoned the closeness was simply for photography’s sake. And as a seasoned camera gal with an eye for that sort of thing, it was her strictly professional opinion.

“Sent you something,” she told him, unnecessary since the alert on his phone soon trilled and Spike untangled himself from her long enough to swipe the phone from the coffee table.

One arm went back to rest across the back of the couch while he scrolled through the pictures with the other. “Ta, pet. These are great. Gonna post a few since someone says my social media could do with a bit of tidying.”

That was surprising, and Buffy worked to keep it out of her tone when she answered. “Oh? Oh okay.”

His glance at her was brief, and so was his smile. “Not the ones of you and me. Wanna keep those offline. Just me in the after. With the not so new but definitely improved ‘do.”

“No, no that’s cool.” She shrugged her shoulders and returned to her own phone, feeling a bit relieved. “The world should totally witness my amazing coloring work.”

Spike snorted. “Wouldn’t go that far.”

“Guess we’ll let the likes tell the story, pal. It’ll be your most popular post yet.”

There went a weary sigh. “Validation through social media algorithm. My life’s complete.”

Buffy rolled eyes and gave him the good poking that comment deserved. “Okay, grandpa. Next you’ll be telling me where you were when the moon landing happened.”

“Mind your tongue with your elders, missy” he replied, eyes bright with amusement even as he adopted a mocking sort of frown. “Else I’ll have to put you over my knee.”

“I don’t know if that’s really hot or really weird.” She was laughing anyway, her amusement bringing out his own grin.

“Wouldn’t say no to testing it out…” Spike let his words trail off as his gaze dropped, tongue pressing against his teeth as he gave her his best smolder. Buffy played up her indifference, gracing him with another one of those patented, dismissive eyerolls but he managed to catch her squirming, just a bit.

He recalled the feel of her in his palm, rounded curve of her pert bottom, with a delicious bit of jiggle when he landed a light smack to it in the midst of sinking into her from behind. The way she clenched him tighter, the surprised squeak giving way to a wanton sound of pleasure and a rush of wetness greeting his measured thrusts, and he grinned.

Aha. So she _was_ into it.

Buffy could tell nothing good was behind that smolder (though it did promise mindless fun).

“I just got back into these clothes,” she insisted, knowing the argument was a weak one but figured it was worth a shot. “Plus pasta overload. As comfortable as I am right now, I’d probably fall asleep.”

Which was true. She was currently comfortable, and once again, that was…well, it was slightly panicking, maybe a little nerve-wracking. Sitting on his couch, cuddled up after making dinner together, joking about Instagram pictures and post-pasta spanking. Realizing that perhaps she missed stuff like this (the banter…and okay, the spankings too). But mostly, the warmth it brought to her, sitting with someone. Having a someone to actually sit with, really. A quiet night in that wasn’t spent alone with bargain bodega wine or being the third or fifth or seventh wheel in a sea of coupled-up couples she called her circle of friends (jeez, being the only single one sucked sometimes).

Spike was nice. Totally nerdy, kind of weird, and a bit of an asshole. But he was also funny and had a way of staring at her with equal parts irritation and awe, and she liked playing the odds with those glances whenever they talked. He was fun to talk to, which given the way things started out, them at each other’s throats (well that wasn’t exactly in the fun way), had completely caught her by surprise. And the sex…once they’d really found their groove after those few early misfires, it was damn good.

But it was also, essentially, like playing house. The ease brought on by an unrealistic, and pretty outrageous circumstance. Blizzard induced tinglies. She reminded herself of that and did her absolute best not to be swayed, even if his hands were damn distracting.

They were back on her again, his phone resting on his thigh as his fingers danced up hers, finding the gap where her sweater was riding up, baring a silver of silky skin and he slipped in, his fingers slightly cool and stealing her warmth.

“What are you doing?” she asked, glancing down at his bold wanderings, fingers inching up higher to stroke the underside of her bra.

“Warmin’ my hands,” he replied, not even bothering to tear his gaze away from the television.

“Get a blanket then.” Her tone was playful and so was the shove she gave him, smiling when he bounced against the couch and came right back, this time tackling her easily and pinning her body between him and the leather.

“Mmm. Better than the blanket.” It was so corny but kinda charming, and she rolled her eyes, unable to stop the grin as Spike leaned in, kissing the corner of her mouth and feeling her smile stretching against his cheeks. His arm slid lower, curling around her waist and lifting her hips just as his gave a small, rocking thrust.

Situated as they were, his body nestled between the heated cradle of her legs, Buffy could feel the press of him between her denim-clad thighs. And the friction was nice, though the kiss he planted on her was anything but. Slow and smacking and a little filthy, tongue slipping between her lips just as he moved against her in a steady grind, and Buffy reached up, letting her fingers drift through his bright locks, giggling at the groan that followed.

“You’re so easy.”

“Taking that as a compliment,” he replied smoothly, letting his kisses drift lower, nibbling at her neck, lingering once he found a spot that made her squirm and push into the movement of his hips, a delicious meeting of friction and pressure. “Fuck, do that again.”

Buffy sighed, and tugged hard at his hair, bringing his lips back to hers. Her brain whited out, finding it easy to sink back into that haze of pleasure that came with his wandering hands and guided by the feel of his lush mouth moving with hers.

His weight was solid as he moved above her, her hands pushing under the back of his shirt, feeling the corded muscles under questing fingers, nails scraping against them gently just to feel him shudder against her frame, and groan into their kisses, lavishing her lower lip with a hard nip that sent of bolt of pleasure, sharp and sinful, to her clit and she rocked into it, chasing more of the feeling of his lips and teeth and body. She didn’t think she had another round in her, not after spending most of the day in bed, but this, this she could do.

Another couch makeout, the teasing grind of her body meeting his, and if her addled brain had thought to connect the earlier moment of weird this afternoon, to the dance they were doing now, just as intimate and in-sync, Buffy was inclined to let Spike’s hands distract her from the overthinking her conscious clearly wanted to do. He made a strong case for total whiteout, nimble fingers popping open the button of her freshly laundered jeans and dipping into her panties just as he sucked at her tongue with a heady groan.

Her grip at the back of his neck tightened, uncaring about his glasses bumping the bridge of her nose, not when he dipped a single finger a little further to explore, swiping at her center in a slow, teasing stroke, her shudder of pleasure instant and almost irritating and she practically growled into his mouth.

“You’re almost too good at that,” Her grumble didn’t last long, even with his answering chuckle, deep and rich like a sweet syrup, and she nipped at his lush bottom lip for a taste of it, uncaring that he’d sounded so damn smug.

“Like knowing what pleases you now.” He emphasized the point with a push, sinking a thick finger into her slick heat, her sigh louder than his muted groan at the give.

“I…oh…” Buffy closed her eyes against the feel of him fitted inside but not moving, the both of them seemingly content with just that, and the kisses he offered, hot and honeyed.

Time slipped away, and the sound of the television faded into the background as their attentions shifted elsewhere. The lazy, heated kisses, the easy rock of his hips, teasing her soaked center with gentle strokes that caught the rhythm of her skilled tongue, currently doing its best to distracted the hell out of him.

Her mouth was certainly in cahoots with her hands, wandering fingers of one hand pushing under his shirt to skim the muscles along his back while the other tugged at his unruly curls. It only urged him to seek more, cupping her face, fingers grasping the back of her neck and tilting her head, wanting more of her mouth while he played between her thighs.

Spike had only managed to fit his thumb to her clit, giving it a teasing tweak when the loud ringing started, jarring the moment and Spike cursed loudly at the sound.

They’d both jumped, and his hand dipped lower, finger sliding further in Buffy hissed at the sensation.

“Sorry, luv” Spike pressed the apology to her lips and slipped his hand from between her legs.

“Is that yours or mine,” she whispered, her kisses finding a new home in the curve of his neck when Spike lifted his head, her efforts earning her a strangled groan and she smiled.

“Mine,” he bit out with only the barest hint of annoyance, dipping his head quick to nibble bluntly at her shoulder.

“Dammit,” her frustration was palpable, and shared between the two and Spike found himself reluctant to pull away, even though he probably should. Considering his phone hadn’t exactly been ringing off the hook since the start of the storm. 

It was hard to do, with her laying there, golden hair splayed against the rich brown leather, peridot eyes bright, and her lips fixed in a pout. But it could be important, like his boss calling about work, which he hadn’t given much thought to outside of an initial conversation early on in the blizzard. He didn’t want to think about work, or much of anything outside of the bitty, beautiful blonde writhing beneath him, and Spike was determined to deal with whoever it was, quickly. “Don’t move.”

The phone was ringing on the couch arm and he snatched it up, not even bothering to check the screen before answering with an edgy ‘Yeah?’.

Buffy chuckled at that, noting the irritated look on his handsome features. His brow shifted quickly, however, from furrowed into something she easily caught as surprise and he stood up from the couch, lips slightly parted.

“Uh…hello.”

It was a total pivot in body language. The earlier smoldering charm and eagerness he kissed her with replaced with an air of nervousness that left Buffy curious and a little bereft, with the sudden loss of his firm body pressed to hers (not to mention the wandering hands). His back was turned to her, and his fingers pushed through newly dyed locks and he didn’t spare a backwards glance at her before walking some ways off, leaving the living room.

The moment had shifted; even she could pick up on that. Buffy sat up, buttoning up her jeans and smoothing down her hair as her sock-covered feet touched the hardwood floor. Spike lingered in the hall, still chatting on the phone and she decided to fully lean into the curiosity and grabbed the remote, lowering the volume enough to hear. Even that was a strained effort, but she managed to catch the tail end of Spike’s question.

“What’s this about, Dru?”

Dru. As in Drusilla. The ex.

Buffy frowned. Seriously? _Now_?

She slipped from the couch, debating whether or not to move closer to the hallway or just give up the eavesdropping all together. It wasn’t her business why his mysterious ex-girlfriend had decided, with incredibly irritating timing, to call him up. And she couldn’t exactly fault him for taking the call; he seemed completely thrown by the unexpected of it all.

Annoyance flared hotly, surprising in its sharpness, though she was quick to brush it off as a reaction to their interrupted moment. Nothing more, and certainly not the creeping, prickly sensation that could’ve possibly passed as jealous. That would be nonsense, of course.

Still, considering where his lips (and fingers) had just been, and where they were now, clutching his stupid interrupting phone and talking to his ex-girlfriend, annoyance was understandable.

Her lips still tingled from their earlier kisses, and she bit down on the bottom one as she moved away from where Spike was still on the phone, voice rumbling in a low tone that she couldn’t decipher at all. Instead, she wandered over to the large bank of windows, peering out at the darkened winter sky. The snow had long stopped and Buffy could see—with relief and only a teensy bit of trepidation—there had been an attempt at clearing Spike’s street. The sidewalks still looked pretty treacherous but so long as the roads were passable, getting to the subway wouldn’t be too much trouble.

She chanced a glance back, noting the still empty living room where Spike had yet to appear. The ease that had been at the backdrop of their interactions had gone, a confusing kind of cold settling in its place that Buffy didn’t think had anything to do with the apartment’s earlier draftiness.

It was more of a realization, really. And she went to retrieve her phone from the coffee table, immediately opening up her weather app. The storm had officially passed, leaving record snowfall and surprisingly few power outages. It would be a long trip back to Faith’s apartment, but not an impossible one.

Buffy nibbled at her bottom lip and glanced back at the empty spot where Spike had stood. He was still in the hallway; she couldn’t hear their conversation, only the rich rumble of his replies, slightly muffled by the distance. Silently, she debated on whether or not to text Faith and Kendra now, letting them know to expect her this evening. It was strange, feeling hesitant about it.

Body still buzzing from Spike’s attention while the annoyance still pricked sharply at the back of her mind. She realized that she was conflicted about leaving, knowing it would officially wrap up their time together and she had to admit, ending their extended one-night stand was filling her with something that felt like disappointment, different from the other fiery kind she’d left in her wake that first morning after. Which was kind of funny to think about now.

It’d been an unconventional situation to begin with, literally snowed in with someone who wasn’t supposed to be a _someone_. Just a face and body to know and experience for a night. And now…well, she _knew_ him. Knew parts, at least. He of the cocky smirk and shy smile and wandering hands and annoying smugness and reader of good poetry books and collector of eclectic music.

‘William from Williamsburg’ became more than a profile on some ‘obviously a hookup site’ app; he was a person. She’d felt that, and more, earlier, the intensity of their last encounter and the quiet, raw intimacy that had seemingly thrown them both for a loop.

In that moment, perhaps he’d become far too real, moving beyond the garden variety blizzard tinglies. And wasn’t that a thought to sit with.

There were plenty of those. Thinky thoughts leading to a place that was definitely a bit stronger than tinglies and moving steadily into a different kind of want that she one hundred percent did not need to put a name to. Nope.

She shook her head. Get a damn grip, Summers. These were the terms they’d decided on. End of storm, end of hookup. At least this time she wouldn’t be slinking out, in the dim light of an unfamiliar bedroom after a spectacularly awkward encounter. This time, they’d be able to end things better. Maybe not with a handshake. But certainly with her panties and dignity intact. No promises of next time. Just a goodbye and some fun memories.

If anything, Spike’s call from his ex, the passably plowed street, and this stupid internal waffling were clear signs.

Their blizzard buddy arrangement had officially reached its end. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The blizzard buddy arrangement comes to an end. But it's definitely not the end of our story. There's two more chapters left in this tale and I'm looking forward to wrapping this one up.

_Rather live out a lie than live wondering_  
_How the fire feels while burning_

\-- **Lykke Li** , _'Love Out of Lust'_

* * *

**Sunday Evening**

_“What’s this about, Dru?”_

But he knew. Of course he knew. It was the reason he’d posted the damn picture in the first place. She would see it. He didn’t know for sure whether or not she was keeping tabs on him that way. It was, after all, early days. And a long shot, considering the abruptness of her moving out.

Though now, he had proof. Her voice on the line, the lilting, dreamy tone reaching out, curling around him in a way that was so familiar. Equal parts ache and irritation, because while he was undeniably still angry about how she’d left, stealing away while he’d been at work, there were other feelings to consider. Dru had been what he wanted for so long. The axis for his entire world; it was appallingly (embarrassingly) easy to sink back into that routine rotation, once again caught in her Drusilla orbit.

He could hear it in her voice, the surety that despite her being the one to call things off and disappear, she still held him by the heart and short hairs. She certainly knew him well enough, better than most. It used to be a comforting thought, that. But now, in the aftermath of their abrupt ending, it only left him hollow.

“My William dressed in his Spike suit again, all golden and glinting,” she mused, in the maddeningly cryptic prose that was her usual way, deliberate in the naming and claiming of him and he grimaced.

“Just a hair change. Needed to feel like myself.” He opted for nonchalant, and found it was easier to come by. It didn’t feel put upon, like the swagger he’d been desperate to reclaim since the end of everything. The parts of himself he’d felt like she’d stowed away along with her clothes and Tom Ford perfume. The carefully crafted confidence, the surety he’d moved through the world, knowing he had her at his side. It was so foolish, building a self upon someone else. He knew that know.

While the pain and anger remained, he found it had hurt less than he realized. It was a small, but comforting thought.

And he didn’t want to be on the phone longer than necessary. He’d gotten what he wanted. Her focus back on him, needing her to see that he too, could be unaffected. It had been his impetus for joining Date2Night in the first place, needing the show of moving on, the false confidence of being ‘fine’. Somewhere along the way it was less about faking the funk and moving to a place of actual ‘okay’.

Drusilla left but she hadn’t won; hadn’t bested him. And he was doing things, dammit. No wallowing for ol’ Spike. She made her choice and they both had to live with it.

“Need to go, Dru.” His voice was firm and judging from the responding huff, small as it was, it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. The routine was old hat. They’d fought before this, of course. Sensational rows which normally ended with him playing the dutiful boyfriend and extending an olive branch while she sulked and stretched out the silences until they were taut and tension-filled, on the cusp of a brand-new argument and only then would she acquiesce. This time, it rang differently.

Not only because she’d scarpered off with her things, but that she’d been the one to break the silence. She was calling at last, and he should have been more responsive.

But Spike’s mind had drifted, wandering to the blonde currently cooling on his leather couch. So he ended the call with a ‘take care of yourself, ducks’, feeling more than a little triumphant when he was the first to cut the connection, even if the satisfaction came with a sad kind of hollowness tinged with a love that was still present, though no longer rock solid.

He loved Dru. Probably always would. But he knew their end was the right thing. No more of the silly games and same dance. He felt the pang of its ending and that was normal, he supposed. It’d barely been a week. Nowhere enough time to even begin to really shake off years of feelings.

Even if the effort came with a very good and worthwhile distraction. Wrapped in soft tanned skin, and sporting bottle blonde hair and a mouth full of quips and cutting snark. His unexpected blizzard buddy was still waiting on him, no doubt wondering about the abrupt interruption in their little session on the couch and he groaned. There’d have to be an explanation, for sure. 

Spike slid the phone into his back pocket when he returned to the living room, surprised to find Buffy not where he’d left her, but peering out one of the large windows. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he offered with a ghost of a grin.

Buffy started a bit at the sound of his voice and turned. He saw her hesitation, just a flicker of it before she asked, “Everything okay?”

He nodded. “S’alright.”

“Okay.” Another pause, this one not as brief and she seemed as if she were working up to something. “I get it.”

“Yeah.” He raked a hand through his thoroughly mussed curls and wondered just how much she’d actually heard. Though she answered that with her next words. “Wait, what?”

“Been there. Recently, even. The ex call,” she explained, noting his slightly confused look. “Well not a ‘call’. I ran into him and his new girlfriend during a totally awkward moment, a few days ago. Only added to the fun.” She was babbling again, lithe fingers flipping the phone between her palms until irritated, she stilled the motion, clutching it in a firm grip.

“Can imagine,” Spike replied. He stepped closer, attempting to reach for her but seemingly changing his mind, letting his hands drop back to his sides. 

“It was Friday night. I was supposed to be out for my friends’ engagement party and forgot my wallet. The bouncer was giving me shit and in the middle of that bucket of bullshit, there’s Riley and his Girlfriend 2.0 model breezing in,”

Buffy shook her head. Bitter and bitching had felt better when she was in between warm sheets and riding the high of at least three good orgasms and a bed buddy to commiserate with. Stupid sex haze. Making everything comfortable. Wasn’t so much now, with the end of this little staycation looming closer.

“Same Friday night we started talking?” he asked.

Buffy nodded. “Mhm. Left my friends to their partying and had a wine sesh for one. Met a lot of creeps on the app. Little while later, we matched.”

“My lucky night then.” His voice was insistent, with a sincerity that earned him a crack of a smile and a pretty heavy eye roll, because she couldn’t just take the damn compliment.

“Okay, you do remember what happened that night, right? With the slapstick comedy sex and the shouty morning after?”

Spike shrugged and hooked his thumbs into his jeans’ belt loops. “Turned out alright. Your leg’s back in workin’ order. And my tongue’s much better.”

“Don’t I know it,” she replied, grin growing wider until a laugh slipped out.

He returned her little sound with a smile, letting it linger for a bit before fading into something more sobering as his stance shifted and he moved closer to the spot she carved out for herself near the bank of windows. “Me and Dru…that’s the first time I’ve heard from her since it ended. S’only been a few days.”

Buffy started at that, green eyes widening in surprise and Spike watched them shift into narrow, searching slits, cat-like and questioning. “How many days?”

“A week on Wednesday.” He held her gaze, wanting to be as transparent as possible. “Came home from work and found all her stuff cleaned out. Closets, drawers. The lot of it. Took what she wanted, she did. Left the rest.”

It didn’t go unnoticed, the meaning in the last bit, the pain and hurt that was fresh and biting and Buffy winced, feeling a bit gobsmacked by it all, because it was a lot to take in. She’d had many months to sit with and sift through her baggage and bullshit with Riley, and here he was, mere days off of a breakup and trying to…do what, she didn’t really know.

"Wow, you didn’t waste any time, did you?" Buffy muttered, mostly to herself but judging from his harsh intake of breath, he'd no doubt heard. The frown she expected to see, lips pressed firmly together when their gazes met. The flash of something that seemed like hurt was surprising, and she sighed. "Sorry. That was shitty."

Spike shook it off and dipped his head. "Don't. Probably deserved it."

“Doesn’t mean I should have—”

“S’fine, Buffy.” His tone was firm and Buffy decided to drop it. There was something else on her mind, anyway. Though she was trying to figure out a way to bring it up to avoid another weird moment.

“Why are you telling me this?” So much for smooth. Then again, was easier to go ahead and ask it outright, anyway.

He paused, not knowing how to respond, at least at first. “Didn’t want to seem like I was hiding anything.”

The truth of the words left him a bit off-kilter. From their shouty morning after, to their boozy game of truth with cards, and the whispers in his bed…they’d been open with each other, unflinching honesty, sometimes soaked with alcohol or post sex pillow talk. But the intentions were there, and clear. Buffy didn’t bullshit around, and he didn’t want to bullshit her, either.

“You don’t owe me anything, Spike.”

Buffy tried to shrug, but it came off a little twitchy. There was a hint of a draft coming in through those big windows and she needed to move away from it. She shouldered past him, making her way to sit on the couch and knew he wasn’t far behind, watching as he perched on a bare spot of coffee table in front of her. “You had your reasons for being on the app. And I had mine.”

“I did, yeah. Wanted to get outta my head and get Dru off my mind. Have a bit of fluff. A meaningless distraction.” He winced almost as soon as the word left his mouth, taking in the firm set of her mouth and the way she looked beyond him. “Shit. Not like that, pet—”

“Yeah, it _is_ like that.” Her tone was quiet but strong, and she broke their mutual stare, glancing down at the phone still in her clutches. “That’s literally the reason for that stupid app, not the fluffy crap they push about ‘meaningful connections’. It’s pointless to pretend otherwise. We just went on being distracted a little longer because of an actual act of God. Or Mother Nature. Whatever.”

“Not a bad thing, that.”

“Maybe not. But…if there hadn’t been a blizzard, I wouldn’t still be here.”

He jerked his head upwards, blue eyes sharp and questioning. “Think so?” Buffy arched a brow and even he had to concede, with a quiet snort. “Right. Not the best morning after.”

“To say the least. I was planning to steal the rest of your Crown because I was so pissed at you.”

He took that with a broad grin. “Little thief.”

“Price of being a major asshole.”

“Fair point, your Grace. Not like I was the only asshole that morning, mind.”

“Uh-huh, old news pal.” Buffy set her phone on the couch’s arm and smoothed her slightly sweaty palms down her denim clad thighs. “Despite the extremely rocky start, I had a good time.”

He sat forward, forearms braced on his knees. “Sounds like there’s a ‘but’ comin’ after that.”

“No, no buts. End of sentence.” Her shoulders squared back and she sat straighter before saying “I should probably go, though.”

“If that’s what you want.” The reply was casual, overly so, landing somewhere just north of sarcasm and Buffy squinted at that.

“It’s what we agreed on,” she reminded him. “The storm’s officially passed and your street’s clear.”

“No way to know what you’re gonna meet beyond the block, luv. Could be a bleedin’ ski slope past what they’ve plowed.”

“The trains are running again. I’ll manage.” Buffy sighed. “Look, it’s mutual rebound-age here. Nothing wrong with letting it stay that way.”

“Dunno about your definition, pet. But this feels a little past rebound.” He hadn’t known he was going to say it, but out in the open, it certainly rang true. His mind drifted back to their last round in the bedroom, the intensity in the way they’d clung to each other, a different kind of desperate that bordered on—dare he say it—passionate.

It was close and a little sloppy, but in a way that didn’t feel like the disaster that had been their first time, or exploratory and ambitious like the others. No scores to keep. No lists to share. Just them and the heat between their messy moves and drugging kisses. Heavy on the want and deliciously reckless. Genuine, and real.

He was still wondering what the fuck it was, and how it’d left him feeling somewhat topside.

From the way Buffy watched him, or didn’t, peridot eyes steadily avoiding his gaze, perhaps he wasn’t the only one feeling off-kilter. “Maybe it is, but I don’t see how that’s a good thing.”

“Doesn’t have to be _any_ thing, really. Just is. Way you’re dodging it, might be ringing true.”

Buffy shook her head. “I’m not dodging. Firmly rooted gal, that’s me.”

“So what, then?”

“Spike, you _literally_ just got out of a relationship.”

“Know that, pet. I was there.” There was an unmistakable acidity to his words and he sat back, palms braced on his knees. “What is it you think I’m after?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “Whatever it is, I don’t think I can give it, though.”

“Not even friendship?”

That earned him a small frown and a sharp, knowing look. “You don’t want to just be friends.”

At least he had the surprising grace to considering it. For at least twenty whole seconds. “No, I don’t.”

The words were blunt and paired with a grim frown and Buffy would’ve probably laughed because the boldness was incredibly on-brand with the man she’d gotten to know.

“Why the hell would you say it, then?”

“No more ridiculous than ‘so long and thanks for all the sex’, but you seem keen to whistle that tune out the door.”

The eyeroll came like clockwork, and Spike had to grin slightly. She was stubborn and surprisingly easy to rile up. He could’ve just let it be, let her walk out and leave things like how they decided. And he wasn’t that stupid. She was right; it was probably for the best.

But something in his gut (and maybe somewhere else a little lower, if he could be completely honest), didn’t think they had to completely walk away from each other, despite their earlier agreed upon…agreement.

“You were looking for a rebound, right?” she asked, though from the hurried way she continued, she hadn’t been looking for an actual answer. “You got it. We both did. So let it stay that way.”

Spike regarded Buffy, really looked at her; blonde hair, still a bit tousled from their earlier play, still-swollen lips holding a slight frown, and thought about how easily they seemed to flow with each other. It was confusing and frankly left him feeling much too exposed to her keen scrutiny.

She was stunning. That much had been obvious from the minute he matched with her profile. Then it went beyond the basics. Spending actual time together and learning that she was also charming and wildly, stupidly stubborn, almost as competitive as he was, with a smart mouth, and a cute bum, and talent for cooking and camera work and weirdly capable with hair styling. She cared deeply about her friends and family and maybe pushed herself too hard with trying to be everything to and for them. It was easy to admit he was so, so fascinated by her.

He pushed a hand through the tangle of platinum curls atop his head. “Timing ain’t ideal, I’ll admit. But having you in my bed, spending time with you, can’t say I wouldn’t want more of it.” Best to just say it outright, and Spike chanced a glance at Buffy, who appeared both startled, and the tiniest bit relieved.

She sighed then, gaze briefly dropping to her hands in her lap. “I don’t think that’d be fair. To either of us. You’re still riding the post-breakup train, and I’m…” She paused, enough for a careless shrug. “It’ll just mess with your head and mine, and no one needs that.”

“The fact that we got a chance to give it another go, doesn’t mean something?”

“Besides that we were both bored and a little drunk?”

His mouth tightened with a hard frown. “Give us some credit, luv. Wasn’t nearly as much drinking after our game of truths.”

“Glad we could stop fighting long enough to make it possible, then.”

It was logical, and he knew it, but it didn’t stop everything from sounding like a damn cop out. Better to treat it like one, and he scoffed. “So we just ignore what’s happened here, then? Call it a day and consider it a fond memory for the wank bank, is it? Nothing’s that easy, pet. Not even for you.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

The last part had slipped out, unchecked and Spike had the feeling it would surely end with his foot in his mouth but Buffy was already eyeing him with that narrowing gaze, confusion causing a scrunch in her nose and between her brows that he probably shouldn’t have found cute considering they were more than likely headed for an argument but cute it was, nevertheless.

There was only the smallest hesitation to continue before he figured, why the fuck not. Honesty had gotten them this far, as far as they were going to get, judging from her readiness to follow through on their original arrangement; she was already out the door, anyway.

“Means you have a bit of a pattern going. Something you can’t break down to strictly black and white thinkin’, you just dismiss. Or hide from. Been hidin’ out at your mates’ flat since your breakup. Hidin’ out at that bar when we both know you’re a dab hand with the camera and got an eye for art and could actually be doing something with those talents instead of pouring bilge water cocktails and getting hit on by drunk prats.”

He was on a roll now, leaping to his feet and taking long strides around the opposite side of the coffee table, wide shoulders bunched into a tight, tension-filled line. He turned at the sound coming from where she was perched on the couch, taut as a livewire, the loud squeak of leather as Buffy pushed to her feet, green eyes blazing.

“Who the hell do you think you are, judging me?" She hissed angrily. 

"Didn’t say I was judging—"

"You were single for all of three minutes before you couldn’t deal with the idea of being alone with yourself.”

“Now hold on—”

“You think three days of sex gives you some all-knowing insight into my life?” Buffy threw up her hands, steeling her gaze to hide the flicker of hurt because Spike had managed to hit the mark, leaving her feeling exposed and raw. “You are so full of shit.”

“M’not judging, dammit!” He returned, voice rising in irritation. “I’m saying I _get_ it.”

“Right, okay.”

“You gettin’ shirty about it means I’m right.” He jabbed a finger in her direction, voice sharp as flint. “Maybe I am a pathetic git who couldn’t last five minutes alone, but at least I’m not the one poutin’ about my life ‘cause I’m not livin’ it. Lettin’ things happen around me instead of goin’ after what I want and makin’ it happen.”

“Oh really?” Buffy crossed her arms, emerald eyes full of fire. “Is that right, _William_? When’s the last time you played your music? Or wrote a poem? Or is this insight only good when it’s directed at me? And you want more of this? Seriously?”

“It’s about the most honest conversation I’ve had in a long time, luv.” He lobbed that truth at her with nothing more than a shrug of broad shoulders. “Yeah, I’m hidin’ too. Stuff I loved, well it ain’t as fun when you’ve been told how useless it all is. Know what it’s like to chip away at bits of yourself, cut your person into pieces to fit someone else’s picture of you. One coward to the next. What a pair we are, pet.”

“Wow, you’re really selling me on this whole idea,” she snapped, tossing her arms wide. “‘I’m pathetic, you’re pathetic, let’s be pathetic together’? Stand back while I swoon.”

“Better than moping over some stale piece of whitebread,” Spike snarked right back. “Your ex’s already got himself a new bird and throwing it in your face. Meanwhile you were probably the best fuckin’ thing he was ever gonna have in his stupid, cornfed existence.”

“I—wait, what?” Buffy didn’t even know where to begin with that, and she dropped her hands, eyeing him warily. “What are you talking about, I’m not moping.”

“Damn right you are. Said we were both trying to get over by getting a leg over. That’s what this whole thing was about, wasn’t it? Moping and coping together.”

As quickly as the fight in him flared up, it simmered a bit. They were at odds, standing with nothing but the coffee table between them, and Buffy’s arms had gone from angrily outstretched to a defensive and guarded wrap around her middle and he took a step, moving around the center table to her side.

“I’m not asking you for anything, Buffy. Got no right to, considering the mess that is my life.” He shook his head and his fingers flexed with hesitancy at his side before he decided ‘sod it’ and reached for her, hands gently undoing her still-wrapped arms. “An’ I don’t think you’re pathetic. A right pain in the ass, but pathetic? Hardly.”

“Definitely didn’t sound like that,” came her reply, begrudgingly and tinged with a grumble.

“Mouth tends to shoot off faster than my brain sometimes. Or, a lot, I’m noticing, since I’ve been around you. My turn to say ‘sorry’ now. Was bang out of order back there.”

She shrugged and ducked her head. “We’re both a little quick with the tempers, I’ve noticed.”

“Did pick up on that, yeah.” He offered her a hasty smile, the quirk fading into a determined line as he pressed on. “There’s something here, luv. Dunno what it is exactly, but I feel it. And I think you do too.”

Buffy gazed up at him, struggling with meeting his eyes because his voice was soft and understanding and it was strange because she was still pretty annoyed at his cheap shots. Her mouth thinned into a slight frown and she pushed his hands away. “Think that’s just garden variety lust talking.”

“Think I know the difference.” There was sharpness to his voice and Buffy knew she’d probably offended him…again. “Can tell when my blood and good sense’s rushing down south. I’ll admit I’ve been a bit Buffy-struck since the first time we got groiny, but s’not the only explanation for what I’m feeling.”

“What are you feeling?”

“Not at all like how I thought I’d be,” he admitted, ducking his head slightly before continuing. “That night we played truth and cards, you said I was eager to please. That it came off insecure and distracted. You were right. I was. Feeling out of practice. It was hard then, not picturing Dru, the first night we were together.”

Buffy nodded tightly at that, her lips shifting into a frown but she said nothing. For his part, Spike looked slightly annoyed with himself and more than a little embarrassed, though he pressed forward. “Spending more time with you, learning how to please you, learning _you_ …about your life, the stuff you love, even what makes you hurt. Didn’t expect it. But I liked it. Didn’t once think of Dru after that, not til this call tonight. It’s been nothing but you. Brought me out of my head, you did.”

She’d asked. She knew that. It didn’t curb her surprise at hearing the naked honesty. It matched the look his eyes, open and just a bit reckless, blue shining bright with something that sparkled like impulsiveness and Buffy shivered a little under the weight of it all.

“I like being around you, William. And I haven’t really liked much about my life lately. My job pays the bills but I’ve felt unsettled since I moved to New York. My friends are great and they’ve been so helpful, but it hasn’t felt like enough. _I_ haven’t felt like enough. Just…unfinished.” Her voice wavered slightly, and she cleared her throat. “It’s really annoying how you could see that, when I haven’t even known you as long as I have the people in my life who’re supposed to see these things. Or maybe, that’s my fault too. I haven’t let them because I’ve been afraid. And ashamed.” She sighed, heavily, and it was hard not to notice how weary it sounded. “But it’s been nice, talking to someone who gets it. I’m really glad if I had to be trapped in a stranger’s apartment during the freak snowstorm of the century, it was yours.”

Her smile grew at his short bark of laughter, and she let him take her hands, his pale fingers sliding through her slender ones and she gave them a small squeeze. “I don’t think either of us are at a place to feel whatever we’re feeling right now. And that’s okay. Just knowing we could, after being in some respective crappy situations, that’s a good thing.”

“Yeah,” Spike replied in a quiet rumble. “I know.”

“Yeah.”

He waited a beat and cleared his throat before offering her a paltry imitation of the cocky smirk she knew (and come to appreciate, even with the eyerolls) “What d’you say, gorgeous? We pop back to the bedroom, get in one last knee trembler for the road?”

Buffy laughed, grateful for the breakup of the tension tinged with a sadness she so did not want to unpack (now, or later). Instead, she untangled their fingers, letting his hands go, and grinning when he slipped them to grip her hips just as she cupped his face.

“We both know it won’t be just the one time.”

“Was counting on it,” he told her, completely unashamed at being called on his rather clever tactic.

“Terrible. You’re supposed to use those powers for good.”

“I’m very good, baby. Sounds like you’re forgetting. Be glad to take an hour or two, give you a proper reminder.”

“Shut up, Spike.”

“You know a good way to make it happen, pet.”

So she obliged and kissed him then, leading his lips and tongue with skilled teasing, coaxing a groan that she could feel in his chest, pressed tightly to it as she was. His arms curled around her waist and he greeted her enthusiasm with a fervor of his own, plundering her mouth with his tongue and nibbling at her bottom lip, savoring the taste of her, rich and heady and lovely in a way that made him ache in places he was happy to press tighter against her, because if they were parting ways, he was damn sure going to leave an impression.

And eventually they broke apart, heaving breaths and touching foreheads and Buffy gave one last gentle sweep through his pretty platinum curls before stepping back, out of his embrace and offering him a tiny smile. “Thank you.”

It was barely a whisper, but he caught the sound, and leaned in, gathering it with a single, lingering press. “Let’s get you into your coat, your Grace.”

Spike waited with an almost restrained politeness as she pulled on her boots, holding out her black parka so she could slide her arms into it and passing her purse over once she was all bundled up. With her bag in hand and phone in her pocket she was set. He hovered at the front door, looking unsure but it was only for a moment before he pushed back his shoulders and dropped a kiss to her forehead, final and unbearably sweet and Buffy could feel her emotions going a little frazzly at that.

“Take care of yourself, Buffy.”

“You too, William.”

He gave her one last smile, small but bright. She slipped out past his door, knowing he was watching her descend down the steps because she didn’t hear him shut it until she cleared the last step at the front entrance. For a wild moment, she thought the front door would still be buried under ice and snow, giving her an excuse to climb up those stairs again and back into his arms.

But the slight push she gave the chilly door told her as much. It was cold, but clear. And so with small grunt, she shouldered the damn thing open, and stepped out into the night, beginning the long, freezing trek back to Faith’s apartment. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The month got away from me, but I'm back. The last chapter is already in the works and hopefully it won't be too long a wait, because I'm excited to close this one out. But before we can get to the end, we've got this one to go. Springtime brings big changes. New spaces, new faces, and an opportunity for reconnecting. Happy Reading!

_Will you tell me once again, how we're gonna be just friends?_   
_If you're for real and not pretend, then I guess you can hang with me._

\-- **Robyn** , 'Hang With Me'

* * *

**Two Months Later, Late March**

Springtime brought with it a series of changes that came through, at least to Spike, like a whirlwind. Thankfully, Mother Nature decided the city had seen enough blizzard like conditions and the rest of the winter passed by with nary a snowflake. A good thing, considering how long it’d taken to dig out from the last ‘Storm of the Century’.

By the time the ice and snow had fully thawed, Spike was scouring apartment listings with rapidly decreasing confidence and developing a headache at the prospect of packing. Everything seemed to be either out of his price range or too far out that a reasonable commute was out of the question, leaving him caught between a rock and very annoying place. Not to mention barely making rent on an apartment much too big and too full of memories.

It would be his luck that he would stumble into a solution in the unlikeliest of places, despite said place being as familiar to him as the back of his hand. After many years of the snow and slush of New York winters, his boss Leon was finally fed up and decided near the end of February to return to his hometown of Atlanta. The elderly man claimed his knees needed a break from the cold but Spike was sure Leon also missed his family. Leaving behind his pride and glory stung, but less so with his bedrock faith in his faithful employee’s ability to keep the lights on and bring in the customers.

His departure came with a signed contract, making Spike a partner in the business and also with use of the apartment above the store that had served as Leon’s place of residence for just as long. It was a kind gesture and after having his friend Wesley take a look at the contract to make sure everything was on the up and up, Spike realized he would’ve been a fool not to accept the offer.

And so, Sinnerman Selections was left in his fairly capable (if only the tiniest bit nervous) hands.

Time had moved quickly, quicker than he could really keep track of. His world consisted of boxes. Filling them and eventually hauling them to his new apartment where he procrastinated the hell out of unpacking until his friends—no doubt tired of tripping over the stacks—more or less shamed him into getting his shit together. He couldn’t deny how good it felt to be in a brand-new place, savoring a kind of peacefulness he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Despite the long hours, Spike could honestly say he was enjoying the life overhaul. He was able to hire employees, two part-timers who were full-time college students and would ensure that he wasn’t spending all his time buried in work.

At first glance, Andrew seemed like he was better suited for selling collectible action figurines in the comfort of his parents’ basement, but he was surprisingly adept with conversing with customers and possessed a wealth of pop culture knowledge as an otherwise entertaining foil to his other employee. Rona was more serious but had a sarcastic streak a mile wide and an incredible head for numbers. With such solid workers at the helm, (and that was almost surreal to consider, him being in charge. A boss, even) Spike was able to divide his time between keeping Sinnerman on the up and up and getting his new apartment in order.

What the upstairs abode lacked in sprawling square footage compared to his former residence, it made up for it in charm. The hardwood floors were worn but polished to a brilliant shine, and the built-in shelves filled with his music and books looked quite nice against the original brick walls. A brand-new bed, a space for his drums and guitars, a lovely little sit-down nook with a great window and a view perfect for reading. It was small and cozy, and most importantly, it was all his own.

Downstairs, the shop bustled with continuous activity. Foot traffic always increased when the weather grew warmer, and with the first real burst of sunshine and sixty-degree temperatures, it was nice to see the sidewalks crowded and people peering into the wide windows.

On this particular spring morning he hadn’t had much time for more than a quick breakfast before shuffling down the stairs and starting the pre-open setup. The sounds of The Strokes carried him through unpacking new shipments and cataloguing the goods, new book releases and some rare vinyl finds he’d manage to snag in a trade deal with a shop in the Bronx.

He was grateful Leon’s connects were happy to continue business with him despite the old man giving up the New York grit for the greener, hotter pastures of Georgia. The mid-morning open brought a bustle of customers and Spike had barely enough time to keep up the music change, eventually letting a playlist do the work (begrudgingly, though as an admitted physical copy snob he could still understand the convenience of streaming).

Spotify did the heavy lifting, offering an eclectic vibe while browsers browsed and Spike offered suggestions and rang up purchases. Indeed, he hadn’t really noticed how much day had actually gone by until he heard a familiar voice calling out his name in greeting while he was busy putting away newly categorized inventory in the fiction section.

“Didn’t think you heard me over the music, man.”

“You mean you didn’t think I heard you singing along, is what.” Spike emerged from one of aisles, folding down the cardboard box he’d finished emptying only minutes before and offered his best friend a broad grin.

Charles Gunn laughed, and continued to lean against the front counter, body language just as casual as his outfit of jeans and light, fitted sweater. “Well it’s Stevie, singing’s a given.”

“That falsetto says otherwise.”

Gunn shook his head. “Always hating. And I brought you coffee too.” He gestured down at the to-go cup resting on the counter beside a white paper bag. “Plus a little something extra.”

Spike arched a brow at that, crossing behind the counter and tossing the flattened box atop a stack with others. “Cheese danish from Empire?”

“Maybe.” Gunn shrugged but his smile spoke volumes and Spike groaned, already anticipating the goodness.

He reached for the still-hot coffee and just as warm bag. “Take it back, Charlie boy. Got the voice of an angel.” He dutifully ignored the smug laughter that followed because he was hungry and there was a danish (plus two more!) that deserved his attention. “Didn’t just come to ply me with baked goods, did ya?”

“Nah, was actually hoping I could put a flyer up in the window.” He set a manila folder on the counter and pulled out a piece of paper to show Spike. “The girls’ basketball team is having a tournament. Hoping to raise some money for new uniforms through ticket sales and concessions.”

Spike swallowed his bite of Danish and studied the flyer with its colorful design and attractive detailing, complete with very cool action shots of the players in action, black and white figures in contrast with the vibrant colors. “Sounds great,” he replied with a grin. “Great artwork too.”

Gunn looked down, a proud grin stretching his handsome face. “Right?” He grabbed the tape dispenser that Spike nudged in his direction and went over to the large storefront window, already housing a few notices and flyers and taped his in a good spot sure to catch eye and foot traffic. “Your girl does good work.”

Spike frowned, brows furrowed in confusion. “What girl?”

“You know…blonde, ‘bout five foot three, hell of a right cross.” Gunn smoothed down the flyer and turned back to Spike, who was still looking perplexed as he chewed his pastry. “Buffy, man.”

He wanted to pretend his stomach didn’t get a bit of flip-floppity action going there at the sound of her name and Spike’s frown quickly shifted into a neutral look when he reached for his coffee, nonchalantly asking “Buffy did this? How’d that even come about?”

Gunn’s broad shoulders lifted in a shrug as he ambled back to the counter. “Hey, you’re the one who pointed her in my direction. She came for kickboxing classes, and we got to talking. Mentioned she was an artist. Well, photographer. But she said she’d see what she could do, and she did her thing. Took the pictures of the girls at practice and added some dope touches. Couldn’t pay too much but I gave her a few recs, said I’d pass along her name if I hear anyone’s looking for a photographer. Like Cordy. You know she’s been talking about wanting new headshots.”

Despite his determination to keep it neutral, Spike managed a small smile. Gunn was good for that, helping. He was a guy who always knew a guy, and it was the reason Spike had suggested his classes to Buffy during their long, snowy weekend.

Outside of an initial query double-checking that his name drop had been a legit recommendation, Gunn hadn’t brought up Buffy since then, and neither did Spike. His friends knew scant details, nothing too in-depth. And while he occasionally glanced at her social media, he tried to maintain his distance. There were, of course, exceptions. Their longest conversation had been only a week or so after the blizzard, on her birthday. Landmark one that it was, he reasoned it was fine to wish her well. She looked stunning in her pictures, all glammed up in a way he hadn’t been able to see her before.

While he could appreciate the no-frills, freshly shagged tangle of hair and her tight curves swimming in his t-shirt, a Buffy greeting thirty was dangerously sexy. Sporting a little black dress and a silver crown atop soft golden curls, clutching a cupcake and grinning happily, surrounded by her mates. In order to save himself from being completely pathetic, he simply added his like to her growing collection of hearts from her followers and typed a short ‘Happy Birthday, gorgeous’. And tried not to grin like a right dumbass when she almost immediately liked his reply and then added a comment of her own.

‘Thanks handsome’ almost felt like an invitation to talk more, but he left it as it was. He didn’t want to be the desperate ponce poring over her pictures. Sure, it was a pride thing at first, with him still carrying a bit of surly feelings left over from their parting. But he pushed them aside. Respecting their agreement, even if he hadn’t wanted to end things. It was for the best, he knew that. Getting his shit together in a post-Dru era needed to be his top priority.

He’d thrown himself into packing and moving and getting the shop’s business in order before Leon could officially retire and while Buffy hadn’t left his thoughts throughout it all, setting up shop on the periphery of his mind’s wanderings, he didn’t linger on the ‘what ifs’ for long. Easier to do with the constant stream of distractions, like interviewing candidates and training his new employees. He would occasionally see her name pop up in the notifications for Sinnerman’s Instagram page, liking the pictures he posted with far more frequency now that he was officially the one in charge (and learning the tricks of the trade thanks to the more social media savvy Rona). Buffy’s remained active as ever, his sharp eyes noting the increase in her follower count and along with a lot more of her gorgeous camera work. Though now hearing, it seemed she’d been far busier than even he realized.

Spike gave Gunn’s explanation a short nod. “Nice of you to do, Charlie boy.” He polished off the rest of his danish and set the others aside for later. After greeting a small group of wanderers with a nod, he left them to their browsing and turned back to his best friend, still leaning against the counter, this time with a patented Gunn glare. “What?”

“Oh, so we’re just gonna play it cool with that information, huh?”

Spike rolled his eyes and sipped at his coffee. “What else is there to say?”

“Figured you’d ask me more about her.”

“Hadn’t done that in the last two months, why start now?”

It was Gunn’s turn for an eye roll, and Spike snorted. “Anyway. The tournament’s not til next month. Better see your bony butt there, especially after I had to haul boxes up all them steps for two straight days.”

“Speaking of boxes, got a few that could do with a bit of hauling to the new place right now.”

Gunn shook his head. “Do I look like I need a job?”

“Dunno, you’re always here, gotta keep you from getting too idle.”

“Don’t you have employees now? Get them to do all this.”

“They’re off for the day. Did that just for you.”

“You’re the worst,” Gunn grumbled. “I’m takin’ back my damn danishes.”

The fruitless threats were put on hold as Spike had customers to ring up and Gunn stepped aside so he could work and by the time he’d waved the gaggle of book lovers out the front door Gunn had completely disappeared (and so did the boxes near the stairwell) and Spike smiled because he was a good mate, if a bit of a pushover.

Still, he’d ply Gunn with a beer or two and call it square.

Spike idly hummed along with the music pumping through the speakers, mimicking the guitar melody of Interpol’s ‘Slow Hands’ while stacking a selection of Naomi Shihab Nye books on display at a table near the front counter.

Gunn hadn’t returned by the time the song switched (The Delfonics this time), but Spike was back behind the counter, propped on a stool and enjoying the last of his coffee when a trio wandered into the store. “Afternoon, ladies” he called out to them, lowering the volume on ‘Hey Love’ and buoying the greeting with a polite smile. “Looking for something in particular?”

The brunette in front, tall and willowy, glanced in his direction and moved with a purpose, long hair swishing behind her. “Actually, I am.” She reached into the back pocket of her light wash jeans and fished out a piece of paper. “Do you have any copies of Sandra Cisneros’ ‘Loose Woman and Woman Hollering Creek’?”

He pointed to one of the shelves towards the back, blue eyes squinting a bit behind thin gold and tortoiseshell frames. “Got a fair bit of Sandra in stock, should be somewhere around there.” Spike shook his head, deciding it would be far easier to find it himself than to send her on a quest. “Nevermind, luv. I’ll check for you.”

Around the counter and down the aisle he went, scanning the shelves and skimming the spines of books until he managed to locate the only copy tucked near the bottom row. “Just your luck,” he told her upon his return. “Snagged the last one.”

“You’re a lifesaver!” she flashed him a quick smile. “I was so tired of calling around and trolling dusty bookstores. Oh, but this place isn’t so dusty.” That last part was said with an apologetic grin and Spike chuckled.

“Ta. Not so good for business if people are sneezing all over the merch. That all you need?”

“Oh, uh yeah but…” She turned and they both noticed the pair she’d come in with had disappeared, and she frowned. “Hey, Faith? Kendra? Is that all we needed?”

“Nah, Kendra found the music stuff, it might be awhile.” The voice, a sultry rasp came from the section stacked with vinyl and CDs and the young brunette rolled her eyes.

“Sorry. I promised I’d buy them something as a thank you for playing tour guide and they’re determined to get their money’s worth.”

Spike shook his head and rested her book to the side. “No problem. Feel free to poke around while you wait for your moocher mates.” He grinned at her laughter and turned to dump his empty coffee cup in the trash can behind the counter.

He expected her to browse, but aside from glancing at the books and posters for sale on the nearby displays, she managed to stick close, and he could feel her gaze falling to him. She was cute, with bright blue eyes, a thick swipe of dark liner adorning the top lids in a funky cat eye that complimented her round face. If he had to wager a guess, she had to be uni aged especially if she was after a book that would be very much at home in the curriculum of an upper-level literature course.

Clearing his throat, he waited until her eyes met his before he leaned in, curiosity getting the better of him and besides, it was easier to keep the chit chat going instead of waiting in silence while her friends continued their browsing. “Playing tour guide, eh? You from out of town?”

“Isn’t everybody in this city?”

Spike chuckled. “Point taken. Know plenty of homegrown New Yorkers, but yeah. Fair amount of tourists and transplants.”

“Well I’m currently a tourist. Soon to be a transplant in a few months.”

“Yeah? Going to university?”

“Good guess. Columbia, for my Masters program. Comparative Literature.” Her smile was a proud, assured one.

“Cheers, luv. My old stomping grounds, that.”

Kohl-lined eyes widened with excitement. “Really?”

Spike nodded. “Literature, dabbled with Creative Writing and History, and a bunch of other rot. Went as far as the graduate program but didn’t bother with the PhD.”

“Why not?”

“Dr. Pratt makes me sound like a total ponce.”

She laughed, and he found himself smiling as well.

“Oh I so get that. But I think I’m gonna go all the way. I’ve got an internship at this great publishing company. It’s small, and independent, but it’ll really give me the chance to learn the ropes, you know?”

“Sounds like you’re making a good go of it, ducks. Good luck to you.”

“Thank you. I mean, you’re kinda saving my ass with this book because it’ll so come in handy for a paper I need to write that I completely forgot about. Ugh, spring break assignments are the worst.”

“Can’t say I miss that at all,” Spike replied sympathetically. She was a rambler this one, but he found it charming, enjoying the small talk and her obvious interest in her field of study. He’d been just as enthusiastic about learning and writing, once upon a time.

“I can’t wait to say that” she returned with a sunny grin. “At least for a little while before grad school. Just gotta finish this last semester and get graduation out of the way. But once that’s over, it’s goodbye California, hello New York. The future Dr. Summers is ready to kick some ass.”

Spike stilled at that, studying the face of the young woman who, he was sure, hadn’t realized he’d gone a little dumbstruck.

Summers.

California.

Like Buffy.

His eyes squinted behind his glasses.

Nah. It couldn’t have been.

They didn’t even look alike. Not really. She had some height to her, not to mention the eyes, nothing like Buffy’s honey green. The voice though, the same rambling, quippy speak that came so naturally to Buffy seemed to tumble out of this one just as easily. He was probably just looking for connections, feeling like a complete knob for seeing what he wanted, still carrying a burning torch for a weekend fling (that was definitely more than a soddin’ fling)

Then again, what were the odds?

Because the chit had mentioned a Faith. And he was certain that was the name of Buffy’s roommate, who _also_ had a girlfriend named Kendra.

As if summoned, the other two appeared, one dark-haired and doe eyed, her fingers laced with a pretty woman sporting slinky, waist-length braids, a rolled-up poster tucked under her other arm.

“Find what you were looking for?” the maybe-Bitty Buffy asked the pair.

“Wasn’t really looking for anything specific but Kendra found a really cool art piece for the living room.” Doe Eyes turned to Spike, who was still eyeing the trio almost warily. “Don’t sell frames by any chance, do ya Blondie?”

It took him a minute and judging from the brow arched in his direction from Doe Eyes, the pause was noticeable and Spike cleared his throat, catching himself from making an even bigger spectacle. “Uh no frames. But there’s a shop two blocks down. S’called Secret Lair. Comics and the like, but they’re known to do a bit of frame up work, especially for my customers. They can sort you out. Tell Vi and Jonathan that Spike sent you.”

The other woman’s brows arched at that, and she untangled out of her girlfriend’s grip to rest the poster alongside the book on the counter. “Spike? Wasn’t that the—”

“Hold up, are you Buffy’s Spike? The blizzard buddy she got all groiny with?” Doe Eyes was direct with it, and Spike was sure she had to be Faith, the brash firefighter with the serious girlfriend, Kendra.

The willowy brunette gaze shifted between her friends and Spike, looking more than a little confused. “TMI, Faith, jeez. But…is that you? ’Buffy’s Spike? ‘Spike’ Spike?” 

“Oh…uh…just the one Spike, actually.” It’d been twice with someone calling him ‘Buffy’s’ (well three if he counted Gunn’s earlier comment about ‘his girl’, which was all very generous considering the very noticeable radio silence between him and the lady Summers).

And Spike wasn’t the type to believe in coincidences, so he was trying to wrap his head around how Buffy’s sister, roommate, and friend all ended up in his store, throwing him looks ranging from bewilderment to polite wariness.

“This is your place?” The answer was obvious enough, but Spike would humor the youngest Summers (Dawn! That was her name).

“Yeah. Co-owner. Manager. Keeper of the keys since my business partner’s legged it back to Georgia to enjoy his retirement.” He didn’t know how the hell to ask but figured directly would be the best bet. Situation was already as awkward as it was gonna be…he hoped. “Does uh…Sorry, but how did you hear about the shop?”

“Um, flyer? It was on Buffy’s fridge.” Dawn shrugged and tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “I didn’t realize it was yours. She didn’t mention you had a store. I looked up the place on social media and saw that she follows the Instagram so I figured it was legit.”

Right. She had followed the shop’s page (and his personal profile). She had liked a few things on both, but aside from the reply to his birthday wishes, there hadn’t been much activity on his personal, and the store’s profile was strictly product pictures.

Spike cleared his throat and dutifully did his best to ignore the varied looks he was getting from the three women Faith’s appraising gaze roving over him was sharp and especially worrisome, and Spike waved a hand through his curls—now hovering between a tamer, lightened blond and his usual sandy—and hoped there weren’t any stray danish crumbs lingering on his fitted black tee.

“Alright then. I can ring you up if that’s all you needed.”

“Um, sure.” Dawn dug her wallet out of the crossbody purse strapped across her chest and waited while Spike fiddled with the cash register.

“So uh, big sis is doing alright?” The question was simple enough, and his tone casual, though judging from the muffled snort coming from behind Dawn (that had to be Faith, he was guessing), it was probably a bit _too_ casual.

Thankfully, Dawn humored him, offering a small smile and a nod. “Yeah, she’s good. Still pain in the butt Buffy. We’re gonna be roommates.”

That was surprising, and he flashed a quick grin. “Is that right?”

“Yeah, B’s finally a big girl, out on her own.” Faith shrugged. “Pretty sweet set-up.”

“Totally. It’s in…wait, where again?” Dawn turned to the other girls, questioningly.

“Fort Greene,” Kendra offered, brown eyes meeting Spike’s with a knowing look. “Not too far from here.”

“Right,” the youngest Summers replied. She handed a debit card to Spike, who still hadn’t spoken beyond mumbling the total cost of her purchases and began to close out the sale. “Fort Greene. It’s really pretty. I think she lucked into it ‘cause it kinda smells like old lady. But we’re working on getting rid of the eau de Vapo Rub.”

“Sounds good,” he told her, sincerely, smiling at that last part. Spike returned her card and passed over a paper bag with her newly purchased book and poster. “Consider this your official welcome to the neighborhood, then.”

“Thanks, Spike.” Her grin was a bit shy, and there was only a brief moment of hesitation before she continued. “Are you good with that, being called Spike?”

“S’alright, yeah. Gotta remember the name for the nerds at the comics shop. Besides, we’re on friendlies. It works.”

“Okay cool.”

“Uh yeah, so we should probably motor-vate, Dawnie.” Faith jerked her head towards the exit. “Gotta get you back to big sis. Cool place, Spike. Might have to drop in again. Even if it is all the way in bumfuck.”

Spike snorted. “Or Brooklyn.”

“That’s what I said, Blondie.”

“Pay her no mind,” Kendra told him, offering a small wave with her heeding. “She’s from Boston, and terribly biased.”

“Room full of transplants and expats,” Spike pointed out, noting the lilt to Kendra’s faint accent. “Best of luck at uni, Dawn. Sure if you’re as bright as Buffy, you’ll do just fine.”

The unexpected compliment left her beaming, and she gave it a short nod. “Thank you. I…well, we, I mean. _We’re_ having a housewarming party once we’re officially settled in. Or, apartment-warming, really. It won’t be for a few weeks because Buffy is booked and busy with work. But I’ll be back for it and _whoa_ am I glad mom’s got some frequent flyer miles because hey, broke college senior here. Would you like to come? I’d totally love to pick your brain about the grad program, and maybe get some insight into what I can expect.”

Once again, she’d managed to catch him off-guard, blue eyes widening in surprise but he managed to right himself. Apparently not quick enough, judging from the glances exchanged between Kendra and Faith.

“Probably should be big sis’ call on that one,” he replied neutrally. “Didn’t know about her new place, then I guess it wasn’t meant to be public knowledge.”

A look passed on Dawn’s pretty features and Spike almost laughed at the mirror glimpse of stubborn determination, eerily similar to Buffy’s during their card game and erasing all doubt about their connection. Must have been a Summers trait, for sure.

“Well you can talk to her and get the okay. Tell her it’s for my education. Really play it up.”

“Of course, it’s what’s most important. Your education.”

Judging from her massive eyeroll, his sarcasm was detected and received but supposed it couldn’t have been too bad if she was still smiling.

“Duh. See you maybe, Spike. Take care.”

“Bye Dawn. You ladies enjoy your afternoon.”

He waved the trio off, watching as they ambled out of the shop and into the spring sunshine, leaving Spike feeling as if he’d been batted around a boxing ring.

“Bloody hell.” He leaned his wiry frame against the counter, suddenly wished he’d had something stronger than just the coffee Gunn had brought him earlier. At least there was the danishes left.

Ten minutes later he working his way through the last one, savoring the sugar rush when Gunn returned, clomping down the back steps. “Damn, didn’t realize how much time had passed.”

“Fell asleep on the job, eh?” Spike asked around a mouthful of pastry.

“Nah, had a few calls to make. Gotta get back to the center, but I’ll hit you up later.” Gunn paused, taking in the picture Spike made, jaw clenched and working overtime as he tore into the second danish. “You, uh…you okay? Got this real weird look on your face.”

“What are the odds that Buffy’s mates and her little sister wind up in the shop today?”

“I’d say pretty remarkable odds but not entirely outta left field. That’s what’s got you carbo-loading?”

Spike brushed at his mouth and shirt, clearing off the crumbs and crumpling the bag into the trash. “Bit says she found a flyer for the shop on Buffy’s fridge. Buffy has a fridge now. And her own flat. Gonna be roomies with little sis.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Dawn. That’s her name. She invited me to their housewarming.”

Gunn made a non-committal noise at that. “So, you going or not?”

“Told her it wasn’t up to me. Buffy’s call.”

“Which means _you_ should probably call her.”

Spike snorted. “Pride’s already about crumb level, don’t need to make it worse.”

“Man, c’mon. It ain’t a pride thing. Y’all been in each other’s orbit for months. Space is good but eventually it’s just ignoring signs.”

“Feels like that was a mixed metaphor, Charlie boy.”

“You know what I mean. You like her.”

“I do, yeah.”

“Okay. And if timing was the problem before, it ain’t exactly an issue now. Who cares who makes the first move, so long as _something’s_ moving?”

The taller man sucked his teeth, and Spike knew he was pushing his stubborn to the limit. Still, with good reason. His impulsiveness normally bit him in the ass, and almost never served him well in these situations. Buffy had made it clear where they stood, months ago. Things couldn’t have changed that much.

Then again, they had. Within their personal and professional lives, sure. But with each other? Hard to say. He still wanted her; couldn’t deny that. Her time, her company, he missed being around her. But wanted to respect her reasons for keeping things confined to their single weekend together. Still…

“Guess I’m just worried about the rejection,” Spike admitted, feeling the warmth creep up the back of his neck at the admission. “Not the first time it’s happened, mind. But I didn’t wanna come on too strong and mess things up. Felt silly enough being all swoony over a weekend thing.”

“I hear you, man” Gunn replied, his voice heavy with understanding. “Not like you can lose much by making the call. Worse case scenario, she’s not cool with it and y’all go back to radio silence and polite internet chit-chat. Least you’ll know.”

Gunn was right, and Spike knew it too. Probably best to stop the waffling about and at least see where the line was drawn. He didn’t want to be just her friend before. But he could be now if it was what she wanted.

With a resigned sigh, he gave Gunn a short nod. “Fine. I’ll ring her up after work.”

“Cool. Tell her I said ‘hey’. And don’t sweat it, Spike. If it doesn’t work out, there’s always checkin’ out the app again.”

Spike wrinkled his nose at that. “Christ, no. I deleted the damn thing ages ago.”

“Boy, you _are_ sprung,” Gunn mused, shaking his head as he headed for the door. “Good luck with that.”

“Expecting more coffee and danish just for that,” he called out, grumbling at Gunn’s back while he left, busying his hands with switching out the store’s music playlist. “Sprung…” Spike snorted a laugh. “Hardly.”

********

Perhaps ‘hardly’ had been an underestimation. It was all snark and snorts while he finished out the rest of his shift and went through the motions of closing down the store for the night. The rest of the afternoon had passed without much incident and by the end, he was ready to kick back and enjoy his evening.

But back in his new solo!Spike space, with zero distractions and a much-needed beer, he could admit to the nerves that rattled him at the thought of reaching out to Buffy again. He could also admit maybe Gunn had a point. His feelings had him over a barrel. They hadn’t changed much since the end of their weekend. He liked Buffy then, and he liked her now. Though the doubts he’d attempted to bury under work and boxes, he couldn’t shake those.

“Bugger it.” Spike drained his beer and tossed the empty into the garbage. It warmed him all over, giving a dose of confidence and he shook out his broad shoulders. Wasn’t his style, wallowing without action. No sense in starting now. It was time to make shit happen. With those words wheeling around his head, he settled on the couch, the brown leather bringing a smile to his face, glad he decided not to part with it in the big purge and move.

Everything else he’d more or less donated or sold off, but the couch…it’d always felt more like his than Dru’s. More his taste and style. Not to mention the last memories of the damn thing featured Buffy, sprawled beneath him or spread out for his greedy gaze.

…Probably not the best visual to take with him in a conversation meant for polite catching up, though. Spike shook his head and reached for his phone, propping his legs up on the coffee table and leaning back as he searched for Buffy’s number, deciding at the last minute to text instead of call.

“Coward,” he muttered to himself but sent it anyway, not even bothering to debate with the sodding sappy side that wanted to take the time to craft the perfect opener. If he started down that road it’d be well into midnight before he sent the damn thing off. Just as well. “Nothing wrong with a ‘Long time no chat’,” he reasoned, glaring at the phone he’d only tossed beside him a few moments before. “Succinct, sincere. Let’s her know she’s been on my mind.”

His mind was racing, and logically he knew it’d only been about a minute or two, but he hopped to his feet, deciding to take a shower instead of waiting around for a response that could pop up anywhere between the next twenty seconds or twenty hours. No sense in driving himself barmy.

The shower had been calming enough, and clean clothes were a definite bonus. It took a lot not to race to the phone once he was freshly scrubbed and dressed in a pair of black sweats and a white t-shirt, but he refrained. He wasn’t too hungry, but made dinner anyway, knowing the stalling would be more productive if his hands were busy. Though ‘busy’ was perhaps an understatement, considering it was only leftovers, and made a mental note to go grocery shopping in the next few days.

Figuring he’d tortured himself long enough, Spike put his drunken noodles on hold and made a beeline for the couch, bringing a fresh beer and a determined glint in his eyes. The beer went to the coaster atop the coffee table and he reached for the phone, feeling it buzz almost as soon as he’d picked it up.

“Perfect timing,” he said, almost smugly (as if he hadn’t been waffling between silent panic and surliness for nearly an hour). Still, he could give himself props for the restraint, especially considering it took her so long to respond, and Spike pursed his lips at the message that greeted him, brief as it was.

_Hey, you._

Well, it was better than ‘who is this again?’, he reminded himself, albeit grumpily. The text was sent, there was a response and now?

“Up to you to push it forward, mate.” That required more beer, so Spike took a sip and opened the message window.

 **SPIKE:** Been awhile.

Wasn’t exactly Wordsworth, but he reasoned he was getting his bearings. Judging from how quickly the next reply came, however, it was probably the right thing to say.

 **BUFFY:** It has. Read any good books lately? :)

 **SPIKE:** Not as much as I should. Been busy. Heard you could say the same.

 **BUFFY:** Yeah?

 **SPIKE:** Yeah. Gunn dropped by the shop. Wanted to put a flyer in the window. Said you were the talented fingers behind the design.

 **BUFFY:** Oh! Yeah, totally me.

 **SPIKE:** Nice work, luv.

 **BUFFY:** Thanks! It was a great cause, and ya know, good for the portfolio. Plus Gunn is great. Helped me perfect my heel hook kick.

 **SPIKE:** Comes in handy for the nighttime vigilante gig, I’ll bet.

 **BUFFY:** LOL! How did you know?

 **SPIKE:** Can’t reveal my sources, pet.

 **BUFFY:** Guess you’ll have to wait to get mugged and see if it’s true or not.

 **SPIKE:** Is there some kinda Buffy Signal that alerts you when the city’s in danger?

 **BUFFY:** Nothing fancy. A high-pitched scream works in a pinch.

 **SPIKE:** Be sure to remember that.

He paused, smile fading only slightly as he considered his next words, wondering how the hell he intended to bring up the news of meeting her sisters and former roomies. Direct had suited so far, leading to the banter he sorely missed. She was so damn funny and cute (Christ, Gunn was right, he _was_ sprung). Couldn’t hurt to keep rolling with it. Until, that is, she threw him for a loop.

 **BUFFY:** I saw The Muppets today and it made me think of you.

 **SPIKE:** …Can’t say I followed you round that bend, pet.

 **BUFFY:** Sorry. I was watching TV and a commercial came on, with The Muppets. And I remembered our conversation about Tim Curry. Long John Silver versus dastardly Clue Butler.

 **SPIKE:** Ahh, right. See where you’re at now. Think I’m more of an Animal guy, myself.

 **BUFFY:** I can see that. Wild hair, lots of yelling. And the drums. Definitely Animal. Think Spike might actually be the better nickname.

 **SPIKE:** Glad you still think so.

 **BUFFY:** Way better hair.

 **SPIKE:** Usually, yeah. More Animal-like when I’ve just woken up.

 **BUFFY:** Right there with ya, pal. She of the eternal bedhead.

 **SPIKE:** Quite fetching, far as I can remember.

 **BUFFY:** There you go, with the compliments.

 **SPIKE:** You set ‘em up, I knock ‘em down, pet.

 **BUFFY:** Smartass.

 **SPIKE:** Always.

 **SPIKE:** Funny, you mentioning today. Met your sister, and your mates.

 **BUFFY:** Huh? Seriously?

 **SPIKE:** Yeah. Dawn, right? Tall, with the Summers pout. Faith, doe eyes with a glower? And Kendra’s got the cool hair. 

**BUFFY:** That would be them, yes. How did this happen?

 **SPIKE:** They came by the shop. Kid sis needed a book. Mentioned the flyer on your fridge and decided to drop in.

 **BUFFY:** Oh.

 **BUFFY:** Shit. I’m sorry. Must have felt like an ambush.

 **SPIKE:** Don’t be. Wasn’t bad at all. She’s a bit of alright. We had a little chat. Mentioned her school plans. And being your new roomie.

 **BUFFY:** You see the babbly is in the genes.

 **SPIKE:** Sure I mentioned a few times that I fancy the babbly. If I can still say that.

 **BUFFY:** You can. It’s good to hear.

 **SPIKE:** Dawn also mentioned a housewarming. There was an invite extended but I said that wasn’t the best idea. Not unless it got the alright from you.

 **SPIKE:** Congrats on the new place, by the way. Heard you’re in the neighborhood.

 **BUFFY:** Oh. Thank you. Yeah, lots of changes in Buffy-land. Been a little busy.

 **SPIKE:** I’ve noticed. Not sarcasm either, luv. Seems like good things happening. You deserve it.

 **BUFFY:** Thank you, Spike. I wanna hear about what you’ve been up to. Text is pretty sucky for that, though.

 **BUFFY:** It won’t be for more weeks, but I’d like for you to be there at our apartment-warming.

 **SPIKE:** Then I’ll be there.

 **BUFFY:** Yeah? Good.

There was a rush of relief, meeting with an excitement and a broad grin blossomed on his handsome face, growing wider when there was another alert for a message quickly following the last.

 **BUFFY:** How’s the hair holding up?

 **SPIKE:** Believe you’ll have to wait and see it in person.

 **BUFFY:** You know I can just ask my sister and friends, right?

 **SPIKE:** Believe that’s cheating, ducks.

 **BUFFY:** Says the guy who was literally hiding cards in his shirt when we played!

 **SPIKE:** What did I tell you about tattle-tells?

 **BUFFY:** Nuh-uh. We’ll be at my place this time, pal. My rules.

 **SPIKE:** The gods themselves do tremble.

 **BUFFY:** If that’s British for ‘Yes, Buffy, I am a coward’, I’m agreeing.

 **SPIKE:** Now you’re just being difficult.

 **BUFFY:** Maybe, but isn’t it fun?

 **SPIKE:** Can’t say I didn’t miss it.

 **BUFFY:** …

 **BUFFY:** I missed you.

 **BUFFY:** I’ve gotta run but I’ll text you later with the address, okay?

 **SPIKE:** Alright. Goodnight, your Grace.

 **BUFFY:** Night, Spike.

He was just about to toss his phone down for the night, suddenly starved and feeling full of energy when he sent one last message, smile still firmly in place as he re-read their endings.

 **SPIKE:** Missed you too, cutie.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is it. Final chapter. Thank you all for the kudos and comments, because it's been a treat to write this story. While this particular tale is over, I might have a few other things already brewing. But enough about that. Let's close this baby out.

_But if you're ready, babe_   
_Are you ready, baby?_

\-- **Syd** , 'Drown in It'

* * *

**Three weeks later**

With the final finishing touches to her makeup, Buffy could officially consider herself dressed and ready. Sure, it’d taken an hour longer than she intended, and there were at least two outfit changes more than the four she’d initially allotted herself but since one was technically a shoe change and not a full-on fix, it didn’t count.

“You look great, dummy. Relax” had been Dawn’s words as she passed Buffy by in the bathroom more than forty-five minutes (and a shirt change) ago. If there was anything she could count on Dawn for, it would surely be blunt honesty (and weird kitchen experiments).

Speaking of which…

“Dawn! Don’t forget to take the mini quiches—”

“Already out!” came the return, bored and a bit muffled, meaning her little sister’s grubby hands were no doubt digging into something reserved for their soon to be arriving guests.

Buffy capped the lipstick and tossed it back into her makeup bag, admiring her handiwork. Not too dressy, but cute enough for a party of friends (and others). The pinkish red wasn’t the power color she would normally sport in nerve-wracking situations but the muted, earthy hue perfectly complimented her dress, a soft forest green number with long sheer sleeves and tiny gold floral patterns sprinkled throughout. She smoothed down the short, swishy skirt, giving a little twirl to ensure no flashing would be involved in the wearing and showing off of said party outfit. When there was a sufficient lack of Buffy bum exposure, she considered herself officially ready.

The heels of her brown ankle booties clicked against the hardwood floors as she headed into the kitchen, where Dawn was busy mixing something peach-colored and suspiciously sangria-like into a large glass pitcher.

“Keep your pouring hand light, missy” Buffy warned, grinning when Dawn made a point to emphatically tip more vodka into her potent experiment.

“Party pooper.” She called out, adding some cut up fruit to the mix.

“Uh-huh. You say that now and then boom, puking into purses.”

Dawn scoffed, her voice going a little shrill. “Ohmygod that happened one time!”

“Once is enough, especially when it comes to Gucci purses.”

“Wasn’t even a real one,” she mumbled, adding more white wine when Buffy turned her back. “Besides, you’re just worried about getting tipsy around your maybe boyyyyyfriend.”

Buffy’s withered glare barely registered with her baby sister, who merely flipped her glossy brunette waves over one shoulder and poured her no doubt potent peach concoction into a plastic party cup and passed it over.

“You’re the worst,” Buffy told her, still accepting the cup because no sense in wasting it.

“Maybe. Doesn’t change what I said. Spike is still coming, right?”

“So says his texts.” They’d been texting a good amount over the last three weeks. Buffy wondered why it was it didn’t progress beyond that, like actual phone conversations or video chats. But she was grateful, considering her schedule. Between shifts at the bar and her finally, steady photography gig work, texting was a low maintenance commitment.

She liked seeing Spike’s replies; their messages ranged from snarky and funny, or just rants and rambles about their day. And if she got a little shiver of thrill whenever there was a new text, well that was nobody’s business but her own.

Especially not Dawn’s (not right away, at least), with her sporting that smug, knowing look. “Did I mention he’s really cool.”

“About a billion-ty times, yes.”

“Just saying. I like him for you.”

“Yeah, well…I like him too.” She lipped at the rim of her cup in an attempt to hide her smile, much to her little sister’s amusement. “Anyway, let’s taste this death brew you’ve got going.”

“Hey! It’s not that bad.”

The sip she took was small and wary; the alcohol was hard to even detect. It was all peachy and mango-y and that could only mean badness ahead, especially since she was a teensy bit nervous and thirsty to boot. “Oh boy. Just keep Xander from it. He’s a really loud wine drunk.”

“Got it,” Dawn said with a nod. “So, you’re ready for this? Our first grown up party, in our own place. I don’t know how Mom does these things.”

“Special Mom powers,” Buffy mused. “But we’re doing alright. We’ve got fancy tiny quiches and other tasty finger foods. Plus this peachy punch that you’re clearly trying to take everyone out with, Red Wedding style.”

“Guess you’ll know if you hear the Rains of Castemere.” Dawn’s snark was momentarily paused as she wandered into the living room to pair her phone with the fancy speaker that seemed to hate anyone that wasn’t her.

Buffy set down her cup, already feeling slightly warmer and the last thing she needed was to hit buzzed before any of their guests showed up. She didn’t want to be Tipsy Girl at her own party, far too excited to spend a night with her friends, in her new place.

So surreal to think about, but in a very good way.

Something dance-y and upbeat pumped through the speaker, and Buffy wiggled her shoulders to the beat, a lucky break in the melody allowing her to hear the knocking. “I got it!” she called out to Dawn, and shuffled down the hallway to the front door, grin still firmly in place after checking the peephole and working through the locks to find Xander and Anya on the other side. “Hey guys! I was gonna come down and meet you.”

“No worries, Buffster” Xander reassured her with a grin and a quick hug after stepping in behind his fiancée. “Someone was leaving just as we got to the front, they let us in.” He glanced around, whistling lowly. “Liking what you ladies have done with the place.”

“Yes, you can’t smell the old lady at all” Anya greeted brightly. She shoved a shiny gold bag at Buffy and smiled. “Here you are. A housewarming present. Or apartment-warming. Candles, to ensure you never have to worry about that mothball and muscle rub smell ever coming back.”

“Can’t ever say no to a good candle.” Buffy laughed and gave Anya a small hug. “Thanks, Ahn. I’m sure it’s great.” The trio made their way to the living room, remarking on the changes Buffy managed to make.

Outside of the smell, there hadn’t been too much to do. The walls were freshly painted white, the hardwood shined and polished, and Buffy was just lucky there’d be an actual working A/C unit come hot weather time. It wasn’t huge, but big enough for her and Dawn. Two bedrooms with good-sized closets and a bathroom with a very real (and kinda heavy) claw foot tub. And she didn’t even have to fight Dawn for what was quickly becoming her favorite feature. The biggest bedroom’s windows opened up to an actual fire escape, and part of her felt silly for being so excited about the damn thing, but it was so quintessential New York, and she was happy to populate the space with potted plants that she hoped to keep alive through to the next winter.

“I’m sure I don’t have to give you guys the tour again,” she remarked to the pair as they all wandered into the living room. The velvet couch and matching loveseat in a deep emerald hue had been a Dawn find, so cute and vintage and Buffy couldn’t begrudge her sister’s quirky taste, especially when it looked just right with the gold and glass coffee table she managed to snag from a local thrift shop.

“Nope. Just point me to the snacks,” Xander replied good-naturedly. “And is that punch I spy…”

“Dawn’s handiwork. Big flashy warnings to the potency.” Buffy tossed a look in her sister’s direction, who simply hid her laughter into her own cup.

Anya clapped her hands excitedly. “Well I’m brave and curious to try it out. I have a rare day off and Xander is very handy and sturdy enough to help me into the Lyft tonight.”

“Sounds good. I’ll lead the way.”

They were still in the kitchen, munching and talking when the intercom buzzed and Dawn screeched out for them to stay put. A few door slams later, there was a din of voices as more of the guests arrived.

“B!” Faith called out, entering the kitchen with Kendra, Willow, and Tara in town. “Looks like the party’s in here. We brought wine”.

Buffy accepted the bottle from Kendra and all manner of hugs were exchanged with the noise level temporary going a little haywire as greetings were shouted out and drinks were poured and Buffy positively buzzed from the energy of it all.

It felt so good. She was good. And happy. It almost seemed surreal. A faint smile tugged at her lips, staring around a space she could call her own, with a group of people who meant so much to her.

The party had shifted to the living room, where everyone was able to spread out, lounging on the couches and some settled at the small dining room table.

The music had switched, with DJ Dawn keeping things fun and bouncy. And soon the group of women were dancing and tugging Xander into the middle who eventually got them to gut-busting giggles once he busted out the sprinkler and a poorly planned Harlem Shake.

“Rhythm is _so_ not a dancer,” Willow remarked, cheeks bright from laughter.

Drink in desperate need of replenishing, Buffy excused herself from the dance party and made a beeline back to the kitchen but was intercepted by a knock at the door. “I got it!” she called out, unnecessary since she was sure no one could hear over the best of 2000s club jams. She was hoping it wasn’t her neighbors; it would be an awkward first-time meeting, having a ‘turn down that racket’ encounter.

To her surprise, it was an expected, anticipated face.

A handsome one. Round tortoiseshell frames perched on sharp cheekbones, a soft looking mouth tugged into a grin that bordered on shy, and a glint in bright blue eyes.

“Hey. You made it.” She returned his smile, the warm feeling in her cheeks having nothing to do with Dawn’s potent peach punch. It’d been months since their last face to face, and god, seeing him now kickstarted the funny tummy flutterings.

He was dressed up, casual but still very cool. Dark jeans and a white t-shirt under a black blazer tailored quite nicely to his rangy, muscular frame.

“Hello, cutie. You look lovely.”

“Thank you. You do too.” Buffy chuckled, her smile growing at his snort. “Sorry. You look very nice. Come on in.”

“Ta. He stepped inside, one hand clutching two gift bags while the other reached out to close the door behind him. “Found the building quite easily. You were right. Not too far from mine.”

“Oh good,” Buffy replied with a nod. “God, how weird is that. Complaining about the distance that first night and we both end up in Brooklyn?”

“Was always here, pet. You’re the newbie in this case.”

“Uh-huh. I’m not the only one with a new place, pal. That home to work commute must be killer.”

Spike grinned. “Nearly tumbled down the steps a few times, don’t joke about that.”

“I would pay good money to see that. Pictures _and_ video.”

“Heartless.”

“Don’t you forget it.” Briefly, she considered reaching for his hand, though her fingers furled against her palm at the last minute and instead offered her warmest smile. “Come on. You can meet everyone.”

“Anything I should know before you toss me to the wolves?”

Buffy chuckled. “They’re not that bad. Barely any bite. Well not too sharp a bite. Except for Faith, but you’ve already met her.”

“Half the battle, eh?”

“Mhm. Xander and Anya are the ones getting engaged, I told you that before. And there’s Willow and Tara, they’re both really laidback. And you’ve already met Kendra and my sister too. You’re all set.”

“Sounds like,” he replied with a nod. His voice was casual, light, a contrast to his heady gaze, studying her pretty features as if trying to drink it all in though Buffy didn’t mind its intensity. It made her nervous, but the good kind. More like anticipation, of being back in his space once more. The pair of them in a much better place. On even ground.

The dance party had disbanded and Xander seemed to be moving a tad slower, much to everyone’s amusement. But the dark-haired man perked up once he saw Buffy and her guest join the group. “Oh hey. Another dude. Pretty happy about that.”

“Yeah, yeah, the testosterone doubled, relax Xan.” Faith rolled her eyes at the larger man before turning her attention to Spike. “’Sup, Blondie. Still lookin’ good.”

Spike’s grin was polite and he tipped his head in greeting. “Good to see you again, Faith. And you too, Kendra.”

Kendra’s good-natured eyeroll at her girlfriend shifted into a smile and wave for the newcomer.

Buffy made the rest of the introductions, noting Spike’s ease at meeting her friends who were very curious about him, judging from their looks (and Dawn’s waggling eyebrows). She’d given them the rundown, about meeting Spike online and the blizzard that had brought them together in his apartment that long weekend, but as far as their radio silence post snowstorm, she chalked it up to a one-time experience.

So she was sure then, it was surprising to see said ‘one time snow fling’ standing in her new living room, looking pretty damn yummy in tight jeans. And his hair… the tousled curls no longer the bright bleaching of her blizzard handiwork, though they were still lighter than what she’d remembered of his original color. Nevertheless, it was a good look. Buffy quickly ducked her head when Spike glanced over and caught her ogling, not wanting to see the smirk she was sure he sported.

There were calls for refills, and Xander had politely offered to grab Spike a beer, leaving only Willow and Tara still seated along with Dawn and Buffy.

“Got you summat, Dawn. Apartment-warming, and all.” Spike passed over one of the gift bags to the younger Summers, smiling at her little squeal of excitement. She tossed her phone to Tara for music duties and eagerly claimed her bag from Spike’s grasp.

“You really didn’t have to, Spike. But oh!” Reaching in past the tissue paper, she pulled out a journal. The dark brown leather was soft under her fingertips and she touched it reverently before glancing back at him, blue eyes bright. “This is so pretty, thank you.”

Spike waved away her thanks, but still managed to give a boyish smile to it, pleased at her reaction. “Serious writers need serious tools. That’ll go a long way when you start your program. Was always scribbling little phrases and whatnot down whenever I felt inspired. Know tech is what everyone likes these days but nothing like keeping it old school, putting paper to pen.”

“Here, here!” Willow exclaimed, catching her girlfriend’s grin at her goofiness.

“That’s such a thoughtful present, Spike.” Tara agreed.

“It is.” Buffy’s voice warmed him and he glanced over, catching her happy look. “So, no apartment prezzies for me?”

“Might be, yeah.” His smile melted into laughter at her eyeroll, fond as it was. Fuck, he missed this. And her.

Before she could reply, the rest of the gang returned, bearing drinks and tiny plates filled with snacks and earning the wrath of Dawn who, after safely stashing away her new journal back into its bag, was now reminding everyone about using coasters.

“Right little general, isn’t she” Spike mused, clearly entertained while Xander passed him his beer and attempted to balance a stack of mini quiches on a plate. “Wherever did she get that from?”

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes and Buffy gave in to the temptation to poke at his side, earning her a glare that held no heat, but made her laugh. “Are you calling me bossy?”

“You sayin’ you’re not?”

“I hope not,” Faith remarked with a laugh. “’Cause I wasn’t the one demanding the spice rack be organized alphabetically.”

“Or who totally makes you sign a waiver whenever you borrow her clothes,” Willow joked.

“You’re the only one who has to, since the plum sauce spill of 2019,” Kendra chimed in.

“Buffy is just assertive and independent.” Anya added her two cents in with a firm voice and breezy smile. “I think it’s admirable.”

“Oh yeah this is coming from the lady who’s made at least two clients cry.” Faith snorted.

“Well they were very weak. Buffy’s new guy looks like he can take a few orders.”

“Course I can,” Spike replied jovially, pleased at the choice in description and enjoying the whiplash of the friends’ back and forth (not to mention Buffy’s gaping look). “She’s got a firm hand and I aim to mind. Less of course the punishment’s better than the rewarding. Isn’t that right, dove?”

“Shut up, Spike!” Buffy started slightly but couldn’t help it, she laughed along with her admonishing. “And I know this doesn’t help my case but you all be quiet!”

“Hey, I didn’t say a word sister,” Dawn remarked, nursing her peach punch. “I know who I’ve gotta live with.”

“Not helping, Dawnie.”

“Never planned to.”

The conversations shifted into other topics, moving quick and seamlessly and Spike found himself thoroughly entertained by it all. He congratulated Anya and Xander on their engagement and laughed along with the rest of them when Faith launched into a hilarious story about a call that involved rescuing a couple when a sex swing session went awry.

The questions about him, he didn’t mind. They were obviously curious and it didn’t quite feel like the friend inquisition he’d been expecting. When he mentioned formerly being in a band and playing the local spots, they were all surprised when it turned out one of the groups his band regularly played alongside, Dingoes Ate My Baby, featured Willow’s long-ago ex, Oz.

“No kidding,” he remarked with a grin, trying to recall if he’d ever seen the pixie-faced redhead before, but drawing a total blank. “S’quite the coincidence.”

The tidbit hadn’t been awkward at all, and it seems the two had parted amicably and as easily as the topic had been broached they moved on to the next thing, thanks to Buffy telling the story about the one time at work, when she nearly spilled a drink on who she was _certain_ had to be Chris Evans, much to her friends and sister’s teasing.

They were all obviously close, interesting that the center of it all had been Buffy’s various connections with people allowing others to connect and enter the fold. It was fascinating, and completely on brand for her, being the beacon at the heart.

He would certainly admit to being drawn to her. Beautiful and vibrant as she was, impossible to stay away. And his thoughts were veering dangerously into poetic, especially with the small smiles she kept tossing his way, but he didn’t mind. This felt like something more, like standing on a precipice, with something good ahead and wanting to simply dive right in and seize it.

They were in the same place, fully clothed, and he simply savored soaking in her presence.

A half hour later, Spike excused himself to the kitchen, tossing his empty beer bottle in the trash and reaching for a plastic cup, curious about the peach concoction they’d been teasing Dawn about earlier.

“Try it at your own risk,” Buffy warned, noting with amusement that her sudden appearance in the doorway caused him to jolt slightly. “Dawn’s very heavy handed with the pour-age. Might be a chance you end up dancing on the coffee table.”

“Speakin’ from experience, your Grace?” He arched a brow at her, dark and daring and decided to throw caution to the wind, pouring two fingers worth of the peachy fruit mix into his cup. “Feeling a little daring.” The sip was smooth enough, though the flush of alcohol hit him almost immediately and Spike realized the warning wasn’t for naught.

His gaze lingered on Buffy, who he now saw was clutching the other gift bag he’d arrived with, still opened by the lady in question and he grinned. “Little thief.”

“Can’t steal something that’s yours,” she reasoned with a breezy little smile that only faltered just a bit when she glanced down, trying to peek through the tissue paper. “It is mine, right?”

“Yeah, luv. It’s yours.”

“Oh goody.” Excitement renewed, she stepped further into the kitchen, setting the bag on the counter and diving in.

Spike simply watched her, watched those little hands dig through white tissue paper and pull out the items he’d hemmed and hawed over for longer than he’d ever admit. The ‘what’ of them was instinctual; it was simply her reaction to them that made him nervous.

Not about the liquor. It was easy enough, and her tiny laugh as slender fingers loosened the deep purple bag and stroked the neck of the squat bottle of Crown Royal XO, admiring the curve and heft to the pretty package told him it had been a good choice.

“A Crown of my very own.”

“Seemed fitting, all things considered.”

“I’d say so. It’s a good thing I didn’t open this in front of everyone. The vultures.”

“Beauty of having your own flat. Don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

“Damn straight.” Buffy placed the bottle bag into it’s velvety soft bag, and set it aside, eager to see what else lay beyond the tissue. It was only one other thing, flat and narrow enough that she could guess it was some sort of book. And it only took a glimpse of a red cover before she was yanking it out, her face breaking into a sweet, sunny, grin. “Is this—”

“Your own copy. With a few little notes from yours truly.”

The title _Love Poems_ was etched in white on the front, and she traced the type before opening it, finding his neat penmanship on the inside cover.

_Buffy,_

_The words aren’t mine, but you can find my feelings in the stars left behind. Every time you read this, I’ll know I’m in your thoughts. You have never left mine._

_\--S._

She glanced up at him, eyes bright and shining and realized he’d edged closer. The nervousness rolled off him in waves, and that was a comforting thought. Beyond them, the noise and laughter of her friends dimmed in comparison, lost in the music that still pumped through the speakers and the dizzying rush of the nearness of him.

She missed that.

“Turn to page 15,” was all he said, quietly, hoarsely, and Buffy obliged.

The little star was her guide, inked in black and stark against the title and she read the poem, easily falling into the lyrical cadence of Giovanni’s simple, but weighted words.

_if you’ve got the key_

_then I’ve got the door._

_let’s do what we did_

_when we did it before_

_if you’ve got the time_

_then I’ve got the way_

_let’s do what we did_

_when we did it all day_

There was a big, black arrow pointing to the stanza at the bottom, as if to drive home it’s message and Buffy breathed out an airy, trembling laugh.

_i know I’m bold_

_coming on like this_

_but the good things in life_

_are too good to be missed_

“Don’t expect anything, pet” Spike started, watching as she read the poem through a second time. “Know you had your reasons for keeping things strictly blizzard buddy with us. Christ knows I had my hang-ups too. But I just…wanted to let you know. If you ever wanted. Well, I want it too. Want it with you.”

Buffy closed the book, and briefly pressed it to her chest before meeting his gaze. His open, earnest, hopeful gaze.

“Would you stay a little while, after everyone leaves?”

Spike’s hesitant was brief, but he nodded. “Yeah, alright. I can do that.”

“Okay.”

The book went back to the bag, and she clutched the handles. “I’m gonna go put this in my room. Meet you back out there?”

He gave a short nod. “Be out in a bit.”

Spike watched her go, feeling a bit turned around from her reaction. Probably wasn’t the best place to dissect their exchange. But it was the right time to drink.

He emptied his cup of the potent peach punch and refilled it.

********

Perhaps it was because she’d actually asked him to stay, but the rest of the little party had passed by in equal parts blur and agonizing slowness. But eventually they were gone, leaving a little louder than their arrival thanks to whatever dark magic Dawn had conjured with her bartending skills (“It’s gotta be a Summers thing, you guys are way too good at pouring drinks,” Xander had remarked after his fourth cup and second hilariously awful dancing attempt).

If any of them had noticed in their leaving that Spike seemed to hover with no real move of following the crowd out the door, they didn’t remark. Buffy pointedly ignored Kendra’s arched brow or Willow’s silly side smile. Even Faith, who everyone would assume would have been the one to broadcast the observation had been uncharacteristically subtle about it all, giving Buffy a sly wink and throwing a meaningful look at Spike before taking her girlfriend’s outstretched hand.

And then they were alone.

Well, alone-ish.

Dawn didn’t seem to be around, though. Buffy remembered an off-handed comment about going to the bathroom while everyone else had pitched in with clean-up. Everyone else except Dawn, which was unsurprising to Buffy, considering her younger sister had been escaping clean up duties since she could walk.

A quick peek into her little sister’s darkened room confirmed her suspicions, not to mention the soft snores coming from the bed.

Buffy returned to the living room, finding Spike settled on the couch. His blazer was draped beside him, and she drank in the slight of his tight white shirt across his chest and the cool pale of his biceps flexing as he draped his arm across the back of the sofa.

“Little sis asleep?” he asked, voice a quiet rumble, just in case.

“Yeah,” Buffy replied, just as softly. Though there was no real point. Nothing short of nuclear disaster could ever wake Dawn, even without the added benefit of alcohol. “Would you like a tour of the rest of the place?”

A smile spread on his handsome face, her question mirroring the one he’d asked during their previous weekend and he rolled to a standing position, graceful and easy. “Sure, luv.”

Just like that weekend, there wasn’t much else to see, save for their own sanctuaries. He’d gotten a glimpse of everything else, more or less.

Nevertheless he followed her down the hallway, eager to view her domain.

It suited her. Airy but clearly lived in, a surprise considering she was still in the process of adjusting to the new surroundings. A big sturdy-looking bed with an iron frame and headboard, covered in a soft, dreamy white bedspread. There were colorful, patterned throw pillows piled atop, with a pink stuffed pig holding court in the center of it all and Spike grinned. “Friend of yours?”

She’d been watching him watch her space, eyes falling on to where he’d titled his head and grinned, a pretty blush warming her cheeks. “Mr. Gordo. We go way back.”

His chuckle was deep and rumbly, doing things to her insides and the feeling only grew stronger once he began to wander.

Decorating her space had been fun. It was great, a clean slate, wiping the traces from her old life, the one she had with Riley and a law school-shaped future. This was hers. The bright colors and eclectic pieces. The little knick-knacks she’d brought from California that reminded her of home.

The pictures of her mom with her sister and grandma that had spent so much time in boxes but now hung around with the room with care. The art prints framed and hung thanks to her mother’s expert eye via video chat. The scents, lavender and laundry detergent, it all painted a vivid portrait of her lovely life.

And her own photography work. Old pieces and blended with the new. Spike studied them all, a faint grin tugging at his lips before he turned to her, eyes bright.

“Said it before, but it bears repeating. You’re damn talented, pet.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t smile, but the beaming pride was all through her tone.

“What else have you been up to?”

“I still work at the bar. But less hours. I got this really great gig as an assistant photographer at an actual studio. Learning the ropes of the business, enough to do some freelancing in my spare time.”

“Sounds wonderful, Buffy. Congrats.”

Buffy nodded, gaze lingering to her little wall, noting the pictures she’d taken during a recent concert. The bright stage lights illuminating the single person on stage, a budding singer who was also a friend of Gunn’s looking for someone to shoot the promotional photos for her debut album.

She’d been floored by the offer and after a good twenty minutes of absolute freak-out (requiring a calming early-morning talk with her mother), she’d accepted the job.

“It has been wonderful. All that great adult responsibility.”

Spike laughed. “I understand that. Every day at the shop I’m reminded when something goes wonky that I’m the one in charge. Got the employees and headache to prove it.”

“You poor old man.”

“Oi! Watch it.”

She just laughed and backed away, closer to the window. “Come on. I wanna show you something.”

“This isn’t the part where you push me out the window, is it?”

“Shut up.”

Buffy unlocked the window’s latch and pushed it up. Spike savored the sweet sight of her flouncy skirt flashing him a bit of tanned thigh as she straddled the sill and climbed out to the other side, disappearing into the dark, leaving him no choice to follow.

The night was cool but not unpleasant, now that they were out on what appeared to be the apartment’s fire escape. The little wrought iron terrace was sturdy, and there were several potted plants in a corner, including the lavender he’d smelled earlier, the scent stronger now and sweet in the evening air. The building across the street was slightly shorter, and with Buffy’s flat on the second highest floor, it gave a nice aerial view of the park directly behind the other building. Nothing spectacular but judging from the spray of green and flowers inhabiting her little oasis, a spot of green would suit just fine.

“A right little Juliet setup you’ve got out here,” Spike remarked with an approving nod.

“Hopefully with no randos climbing up, though.”

“Saw the bat in the corner of your room. Think you could handle that situation.”

Buffy breathed out a soft laugh. “I totally can.” Silence crept in, not at all uncomfortable, but definitely in that familiar way she’d missed in their time apart. Strange, thinking about how they managed to grow so easy in each other’s company. And how she could admit it to herself. Among other things. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about stuff like that. Taking care of myself. Handling situations.”

He turned from his gazing out into the distance, directing his attention to her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think I’ve been so scared of making mistakes that I just stopped doing…anything proactive. Just going through the motions.” There was a rawness in her chest at the impulsive honesty, but it came the knowing with certainty that Spike got it.

Judging from his nod and the gentle press of his fingers, reaching out to brush the tender skin at her inner wrist, she’d been spot on.

Buffy didn’t let him get far, catching his hand before he could pull back and sliding her fingers between his, their palms pressed together.

“But now you’re doing something,” he reminded her. Unnecessarily, but she was grateful for the way he looked at things. Looked at her. Like now; adoration, awe, and perhaps a touch of trepidation.

“I am. Not saying I’m dancing on tables about it. But I get it, needing to push through the bad stuff. After all, someone once told me that you have to go through something. Just to see if you can get through it.”

“A real genius. A wise and charming bloke, that.”

Ahh, there was the eyeroll he’d been waiting on. Her fond little grin followed, brightening her whole face, eyes glowing in the soft light coming from her bedroom. “He’s not humble at all, that’s for sure.”

“Piffle,” he replied with a dismissive, playful wave. “Who needs humble when you’re smart _and_ devastatingly handsome.”

“I’m not touching that.”

“More’n welcome to touch other things if you’d like.”

Buffy smiled. “Believe me, I’d like.”

His face shifted into absolute delight and he leaned in, closing the gap of space between them to a sliver. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But—” she halted his movement, a hand pressed to his chest and while it was great having him so close, the clean scent of his cologne lingering between them, she had a few more things to say. “We should go on a date. A real one.”

“Bloody hell, Summers” he grumbled. “Was supposed to be my line.”

“Really?” she lifted her gaze to meet his. “You were going to ask me out.”

“Yes, pushy. Didn’t want…s’not just shagging I’m after, pet. Meant what I said, want you. Want to be with you.”

“Oh….” She breathed out a slow, steady breath. “Spike, I want that too.”

Spike’s heart thumped wildly. Large hands cupped her cheeks, keeping her close and he sighed when he felt her hand rest at his hip. “Glad it to hear it, sweet. We’ll go slow, yeah? Take this as slow as you need.”

“Slow is good,” Buffy agreed, sighing when his thumb grazed her cheekbone. “Though hey, no pressure. We’ve already seen each other naked.”

He gave a small snort, letting his forehead rest against hers, just to savor the moment. “Does take that first time awkward out of the equation.”

“You are the only guy I’ve ever almost put in the hospital.”

“Kinda proud of that, actually.”

“You’re so damn weird.”

“Yeah well now you’re stuck with me. No take-backs.”

At that, Buffy simply smiled, feeling her body instinctive drift closer to his, pressed against the solidness of him until their lips met in a kiss that felt as refreshing as a cool drink and natural as breathing.

Sweetly sipping, mouths moving in a dance that was familiar as it was thrilling. Leaving them both a little breathless when they eventually parted, and she drank in his gaze, greedy and besotted and hopeful, and mirroring her own happy, hungry thoughts. It was so easy then, letting him hold her, clutching to him just as tightly, their bodies swaying in the soft spring evening, with the sights and sounds of the city echoing below.

“No take backs,” Buffy whispered in agreement, a gentle smile curving her lips. “Only forward.”


End file.
